


Breaking into The Inseparables

by Kitacular



Series: More than Brothers [7]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Action & Romance, Anal Sex, Brotherhood, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Feelings, Friendship, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Mild Painplay, Ownership
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-05-25 08:03:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 84
Words: 219,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6186814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitacular/pseuds/Kitacular
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Les Inseparables make a new friend and gradually find out how important he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tags will grow as the story develops. It will be much less kink heavy than previous works, though. This work kind of assumes you know Porthos and Aramis are in an established power based but very loving relationship. More information can be found in previous works :)
> 
> First chapter is set at the conclusion of the first episode, Friends and Enemies.

Porthos felt d'Artagnan's eyes on him as he dealt another round of cards.

“What is it?” he asked bluntly. He looked up and chuckled to see the young man's eyes glazing over. Evidently wine wasn't as strong in Gascony.

“You're all so close,” he said quietly, slurring slightly. Porthos nodded. “I asked around. Madame Bonacieux says you're called The Inseparables.”

Porthos nodded.

“What of it?” he asked, curious.

“I've never had friends like that. You're so sure of each other. You and Aramis. You barely glanced at each other but you know. You know where the other is, what he's doing. Even in the ruins,” d'Artagnan continued, waving vaguely. “You both just knew the other was fine and where they'd go.”

Porthos smiled. It was true. Many years together as Musketeers helped but it was more than that with Aramis. Always had been.

  
  


  
  


Porthos chuckled to himself as he tried to carry both d'Artagnan and Athos out the tavern. He was met in the doorway by Aramis.

“'ello. Come back to help?” he chuckled, heaving d'Artagnan toward Aramis. Aramis caught him easily.

“Oh dear, Porthos. What **have** you done to our young Gascon?” Aramis said with a small smile.

“What's wrong?” asked Porthos, heaving Athos' arm over his shoulders more securely. Aramis tapped his pistol and Porthos noticed it was the one he'd left at Adele's. Porthos nodded.

“Seeee,” slurred d'Artagnan. Aramis and Porthos blinked at him in surprise. “You just knew!”

“Have I missed something?” asked Aramis, leading the way up the street, holding d'Artagnan securely around the waist.

“D'Artagnan said he's never had a friendship as close as ours,” Porthos explained, the grin evident in his voice. Aramis laughed. Even Athos snorted in amusement, slumped against Porthos.

“Now **I'm** missing something,” moaned d'Artagnan. The three Musketeers laughed again. As they reached the end of the street Porthos turned to the left with Athos.

“I'll see you at home,” Porthos said, heaving Athos who seemed to be falling asleep on his feet.

Aramis nodded and touched Porthos' arm briefly. He tipped his hat to Athos and turned back to go the opposite direction with d'Artagnan.

“You all live together? At the garrison?”

“No. Porthos and I have lodgings elsewhere in town. Athos keeps very Spartan chambers just outside the yard.”

“What do I do tomorrow, Aramis?” asked d'Artagnan hopelessly. “Father has people running the farm so I have no need to return there. Even if I did, I'd just see him every where I went and remember how I couldn't protect him. I came to Paris with a purpose to avenge my father and now... Now what? ”

“Now you find a new purpose,” said Aramis kindly. “If farming is not your métier, then find what is.”

“How do I find that?”

“I think you know what it is,” Aramis said, heaving him upright again where he'd begun to slump.

“Killing?” asked d'Artagnan bitterly.

Aramis stopped dead in the street.

“If you think that's what the Musketeers are all about you learned nothing the past few days, young man.”

D'Artagnan shook his head miserably.

“Father told me the Musketeers are the most honourable body of men in all of France and the King's most elite regiment.”

Aramis smiled and resumed walking along with d'Artagnan. After a short while they arrived at Bonacieux's house.

“Might I make a suggestion?” Aramis asked, leaning d'Artagnan against the door frame. D'Artagnan nodded. “Come to the garrison tomorrow by eight. Spend the day with the three of us and see what it is we actually do. After that, consider your future with more information. You learned to fight like that for a reason, no?”

“My father wanted me to,” d'Artagnan replied sadly.

“Then use the skills he saw fit to instil in you,” said Aramis clapping d'Artagnan on the shoulder. “Sleep well and we'll see you in the morning.”

  
  


  
  


“This not home,” slurred Athos.

“I 'ain't carrying you that far,” muttered Porthos, dragging the nearly unconscious Musketeer up the stairs to the apartments he shared with Aramis.

“m'fine,” protested Athos.

“Uh huh,” said Porthos unlocking the door and pushing it open with his foot.

He heaved Athos through the door and kicked it closed behind them. He dragged the staggering Athos across the room and into the smaller of their two bedrooms. He deposited Athos on the bed and sighed, turning to light the candles. Porthos leaned down and began to remove Athos' weapons, man-handling him to get his belts and pistols off.

Porthos turned his head at the noise of the door opening. He smiled as Aramis came into view.

“Is he that bad?” Aramis asked.

“No,” muttered Athos who was trying to pull his arm out of Porthos' grip.

“Yes,” countered Porthos who was trying to pull Athos' flailing arm out of his doublet sleeve.

Aramis laughed and disappeared. He returned with a cup of clean water and placed it on the small bedside table. Porthos had finally succeeded in removing Athos' doublet and was now on his knees trying to get his boots off. Aramis dropped to his knees and took one foot. Together, they managed to finally remove them and Porthos steered the drunk man into bed and threw the blanket over him. Aramis snuffed the candles out and they moved back into the main chamber.

The two men removed their sword belts and guns, placing them on a pair of battered stands. Aramis sighed. Porthos flicked his eyes up to him at the noise and pulled him close.

“Love?” he asked.

“Adele has gone to the Cardinal's country estate. She has apparently chosen him,” he said sadly.

Porthos gently undid Aramis' wide belt and turned to hang it on a hook. He unwound Aramis' sash and undid the buttons on his coat. Drawing it gently off his shoulders, he kissed Aramis' neck.

“I'm sorry, Sire,” he said sincerely. Aramis nodded, grateful for Porthos' unquestioning acceptance and support.

Porthos hung Aramis' coat and sash up and they moved into their bedroom.

Aramis didn't bother lighting their candles as enough moonlight came in through the small window to see by. Porthos immediately stripped off, laying his clothes on the back of the chair against the wall. He slid to his knees and watched Aramis, who pointed at the bed. Porthos quickly slid into bed and turned onto his side, his back against the wall. Aramis undressed in thoughtful silence and settled into his arms, nestling his back against Porthos' chest.

“How was the lad?” asked Porthos, trying to distract him.

“Not too bad. A bit lost, I think,” replied Aramis.

“You intend to help?” Porthos asked shrewdly, brushing Aramis' hair out of his eyes.

“Yes. I think he has great talent. Don't you?” Aramis answered, turning slightly to look at Porthos.

“I do, Sire. Very raw, though. No tactical skill at all. Bloody hot head, too,” Porthos said thoughtfully. Aramis chuckled in agreement and turned back onto his side to nestle back against Porthos' chest and stomach.

“I've told him to come to the yard in the morning. I don't think he wants to return to Gascony. He's just lost his father. He says home would just remind him of what he's lost but I think it's more than that. I think he's experienced more excitement and more direction here with us than he has on some farm in Gascony.”

“That makes sense, Sire. Do you think Athos and Tréville will go for it? We're at full strength since Talebod was given his commission last month,” Porthos replied in the darkness, stroking his thoughtful lover's hair.

“He helped save Athos' life and the honour of the regiment. I don't think either of them can begrudge the free assistance.” Aramis said firmly.

  
  


  
  


  
  


Athos groaned loudly. His head was pounding. He rolled over and recognised the bed in Porthos and Aramis' home. He spied the cup of water they always left him and scowled. They never gave him wine in the mornings. That's what he wanted. He flopped onto his back and listened. They were both up. He could hear them making breakfast.

Aramis and Porthos were sat round their battered table when Athos appeared after getting dressed. They had laid a plate for him and he nodded gratefully, sitting to eat in silence.

“We don't know that, Aramis,” said Porthos, evidently continuing a conversation from before Athos entered.

“He shot the man at the inn,” countered Aramis.

“From bloody close range,” Porthos answered.

“While being attacked by someone else,” Aramis said inclining his head. Porthos shrugged.

“Care to enlighten me?” asked Athos quietly, signalling he was ready to be included.

“Aramis has invited the young Gascon to join the Musketeers,” Porthos said, smirking. Aramis rolled his eyes and stood up, laying a hand on Porthos' shoulder. Porthos smiled up at him.

“Oh?” asked Athos, loud enough for his voice to carry to Aramis who had crossed to the small kitchen

“I did not invite him to join the regiment. I suggested he come and see what it is we actually do,” Aramis called.

Athos raised his eyebrows at Porthos who held his hands up.

“Not my idea,” he said.

“You saw him that morning in the yard. He was excellent. How long has it been since we've seen someone that good **before** you've got your hands on them. I certainly wasn't that good when I joined the military. Porthos?” Aramis continued, returning to the room.

Porthos grunted in reply and Aramis playfully swatted him on the back of the head.

“In a real fight?” Athos asked, pushing him empty plate back.

“He fights with great passion and drive,” Aramis answered brightly, puling his coat on. Porthos gave him a pointed look as he rose from the table, taking their dishes.

“Indeed?” asked Athos, not fooled.

“He could stand to learn tactics,” Aramis conceded. Porthos snorted. Aramis sighed. “He lacks discipline and control,” he admitted, reluctantly.

“What's his experience?”

“Farming,” snorted Porthos.

“Full hard days of physical work followed by enough training to be able to hold his own against you,” said Aramis loudly.

Athos sat thoughtfully while the pair got ready to leave. When he stood, he found himself crushed in a bear hug between the pair.

“Gentlemen?” he asked, chuckling.

“Too close for comfort,” Porthos mumbled into his ear. Athos reached one arm back to pat Porthos and wrapped the other around Aramis who was crushing him from the front.

“We haven't forgiven you for goading the firing squad,” Aramis said quietly. “Do you understand that the only reason they hadn't been given the order is because we were arguing with the guard to let us in. If they'd listened to you...” Aramis trailed off and squeezed him tighter.

Athos felt Porthos burying his face in his shoulder and breathing him in. Aramis mirrored him on the other side. Athos sighed deeply. The love and affection the three of them had seemed to fill the room. Athos felt as if the two of them were sucking the despair he'd felt in jail out of him like poison from a wound.

“Don't give up again, will you?” Porthos rumbled.

Athos laughed breathlessly, beginning to struggle for air crushed between the two. They released him and he stepped away so he could see them both.

“Never, gentlemen. I have learned my lesson. I can't escape you,” he said chuckling.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis tries to get the Captain and Athos on board with his plan to train d'Artagnan.

Entering the yard, they found d'Artagnan already there. He jumped to his feet seeing the three of men walking towards him. He found nerves bubbling in his stomach.

“Good morning, young Gascon,” said Aramis, smiling.

“You're here early,” said Porthos, sitting down on the bench he'd just vacated.

“You don't get to sleep in when there's work to be done on a farm,” he said defiantly.

“Athos,” called Tréville from above them.

Athos gave d'Artagnan a withering look under his the brim of his hat.

“It appears one can take the boy out of the farm but can't take the farm out of the boy,” he said scathingly and strode up the stairs.

D'Artagnan watched him go and Aramis saw the flash of anger in his young face.

“Peace, young man,” Aramis said softly.

“You said you asked around about us,” Porthos said quietly. D'Artagnan looked at him and nodded. “What did you say we were called?”

“The Three Inseparables,” he answered. Aramis smiled warmly at him.

“Do you think we got that name by trusting people immediately?” he asked gently.

“You don't trust me?” asked d'Artagnan, anger rising in him quickly. He advanced on Aramis, his hand flying to the hilt of his sword. Porthos stood suddenly and towered over the young Gascon, separating him from Aramis.

“You walked in here and tried to kill him,” Aramis said from behind Porthos' large frame, his voice losing all trace of friendliness. “He calmly stated he was being falsely accused and you didn't listen. You gave him no chance to clear his name. You continued to attack him after he'd told you enough. You threw a knife when his back was turned. You now wonder why he doesn't welcome you with open arms?” he said quickly.

D'Artagnan hung his head, shame washing over him. It was true. The emotion of losing his father had made him act most dishonourably. Porthos clapped him on the shoulder and he lifted his head again.

“Biggest thing you need to learn is to listen,” Porthos grunted at him. Aramis nodded fervently.

They were interrupted by Athos returning to them down the stairs.

“Dujon was murdered last night. Poison,” he said, darkly.

Porthos and Aramis both frowned.

“To stop him talking?” Porthos said in confusion.

“Indeed,” murmured Athos. “Yet his confession had already cleared the Musketeers and pointed the blame firmly at Gadeut.”

“So on whose orders was Gadeut acting?” asked Aramis.

“Who would have the ability to get into the prison to kill him and would want to stop further confessions?” asked d'Artagnan.

“The Cardinal,” said Aramis and Athos in unison. Porthos growled.

“Who did Dujon normally ride with, Porthos?” asked Athos.

“Jussac,” he replied. The three Musketeers all smirked.

“What?” asked d'Artagnan, frustrated at again missing an inside joke.

“A couple of weeks ago Jussac injured Athos in a duel when they set upon us without us having a chance to draw swords,” Aramis said softly, leaning towards d'Artagnan.

“Do you believe in fate, gentlemen?” said Athos, the twinkle of battle lighting in his eyes.

  
  


  
  


 

When they recounted their triumphant fight with Jussac and the Guards to Tréville, they watched him grow angrier until they explained their reasons for seeking him out.

“You think the Cardinal killed Dujon to prevent him incriminating him further?” he asked, leaning his fists on his desk.

“You aren't the only man who understands the need to be distant from some of his men's questionable decisions, Captain,” said Athos carefully.

“Indeed,” snapped Tréville. “And you?” he asked bluntly, turning to d'Artagnan.

“I would be a Musketeer if you'll have me,” he answered.

“The King's commission is not mine to grant,” Tréville replied brusquely.

“We understand, Captain,” Athos interjected, receiving a sharp look from Tréville. “However,” he continued to the surprise of all assembled. “He fought well and with honour. He was of great assistance to Porthos and Aramis in the ruins. He took Jussac himself down unassisted.”

Tréville raised his eyebrows, not unaware of Jussac's reputation. There was a tense silence as Tréville considered the four of them.

“Can we say, then,” d'Artagnan began, hesitating when Tréville turned his intelligent eyes on him. “If I am not a Musketeer, I am in training to become one?”

Tréville's face softened.

“I cannot pay you,” he said. The three Musketeers breathed a sigh of relief, knowing the change in tone meant his anger had just about dissipated.

“I will have enough income from my father's-. From my farm,” he said, pain rippling across his face.

“Very well,” Tréville said, nodding. He cast his eyes across the other three. “You three are responsible for him. You are to keep him out of trouble and to train him. I will not have the rest of the regiment spending their time on your apprentice.”

They all nodded in unison.

“Then you are dismissed,” he said bluntly.

The foursome retreated down the stairs. As they reached the bottom, d'Artagnan reached out and touched Athos' arm gently. Athos started and looked at his hand, following his arm up and peering curiously at his face.

“Thank you,” d'Artagnan said softly.

Athos nodded in silence and walked down the stairs ahead of them.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> D'Artagnan trains with the Musketeers and upsets people in the process.

“I am a match for any man! Have you not witnessed me holding my own?” d'Artagnan said loudly, his voice carrying across the yard. Some of the gathered Musketeers frowned at the young man's words.

“Peace, for goodness sake,” Aramis said wearily.

D'Artagnan's insistence to make everything a battle was beginning to tire Aramis out. He glanced at Athos for help who just gave him a long look. Aramis resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at his 'told you so' expression. He turned to Porthos who was also smirking. Aramis lifted his eyebrows at the expression and turned back to the angry Gascon.

“OK then, my young friend,” he said, his voice ringing across the garrison. “If you can beat a commissioned Musketeer of my choosing in this yard in single combat with no weapons, I will say no more words about training and you can show us all how useless our years of practice have been,” he said, gesturing an arm around the yard.

D'Artagnan lifted his chin defiantly as an interested murmur ran around the gathered men. He realised suddenly he may have over stepped by implying he was better than the highly trained men surrounding him. His blood was pounding in his ears, though, and he couldn't back down.

“Name your champion, then,” d'Artagnan said loudly, removing his blades and tossing them to Aramis.

A quiet chuckle ran around the watching audience and d'Artagnan looked at the silent Athos, assuming the senior officer would be the chosen man. He felt his doubt growing as even Athos was amused by something.

D'Artagnan's heart sank as Porthos stood, drawing himself slowly to his full height. He watched Porthos methodically disarming himself and turned back to Aramis.

“I meant no offence with my words,” he said quickly. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Porthos stripping his doublet off and stretching his shoulders.

“I'm sure you did not. Yet I believe you still think they're true. You have the heart of a Musketeer but you do not yet have the skill. You disagree and believe you have. Let us see,” Aramis replied calmly.

Athos continued to smirk and looked up suddenly. Captain Tréville was watching them, a smile twitching his lips, too.

“Don't kill him, Porthos,” Athos said quietly.

Porthos grinned and straightened his bandanna.

“Thanks for telling me this time,” he chuckled.

Athos mounted the stairs to stand with Tréville. They both watched as d'Artagnan launched himself at Porthos who simply side-stepped and clubbed him on the back, laying him flat on the garrison floor.

“How's he coming along?” the Captain asked.

Athos didn't reply and just watched as Porthos dropped d'Artagnan to the floor again.

“He's very eager,” prompted Tréville.

“Indeed,” Athos replied. He smirked as Porthos was circling the winded d'Artagnan with his arms in the air. A crowd was beginning to gather.

“It's been three weeks now. His sword fighting is exemplary,” continued Tréville.

“You're trying to get at something, Captain,” Athos said, tearing his eyes away from the combatants below.

Tréville nodded thoughtfully.

“I'm still waiting for some information to come in but I'd like to see you in my office this afternoon,” he said, turning away.

Athos nodded and recognised the dismissal. As he turned to the stairs Tréville caught him by the arm.

“Don't let Porthos discourage him too much,” he added.

Athos smirked and looked over the railing to see d'Artagnan stumble past and slam into the table, sending Aramis' wine flying.

Porthos pouted as Athos came striding down the stairs and stood between them.

“That will do,” he said quietly.

There was a grumble of disappointment from the audience and they gradually dispersed. Athos waited until the four of them were relatively alone before speaking again.

Aramis slid up the bench and patted for d'Artagnan to sit down who did so, panting heavily. Aramis tossed an apple to Porthos who had reclined on the stairs, his elbows on a step behind him.

“Understand now?” Athos asked softly. D'Artagnan looked up at him without speaking. “We fight together, not apart. You say you have the heart of a Musketeer yet you attempt to prove it by claiming you are better than us?”

D'Artagnan hung his head and let Athos' words penetrate him. He was finding the calm disappointment in Athos' voice heart breaking.

“We have already discussed how much danger you put Aramis and Porthos in by charging into the ruins. Not to mention my own life would have been lost, had they failed to recover the evidence we needed,” he said, beginning to pace in front of d'Artagnan and Aramis.

D'Artagnan opened his mouth to speak but Athos continued, cutting across him.

“We have spent the last three and a half weeks trying to assess your skills and identify areas to improve. We are trying to make sure you are not a liability if we choose to take you into the field with us. So far your record is only half successful, being that you were victorious with me and failed with them,” Athos continued.

D'Artagnan's head had dropped and he was nodding along with Athos' words. Aramis shared a surprised look with Porthos at Athos' lecturing. When they made mistakes, Athos normally just gave them piercing looks and let it go. This was new. He rose and moved to sit beside Porthos' relaxed form on the stairs, leaving d'Artagnan alone on the bench.

“You need to learn that we lean on each other. We have to absolutely trust in each other's abilities and be able to take each other seriously. You have seen our companions be the most friendly and good-humoured men in all of Paris and yet you have also seen them in combat. I know, without having been there, they were all business. Correct?”

“Yes,” murmured d'Artagnan without looking up at him.

Athos continued to pace back and forth in front of him where he was seated alone. Aramis felt his heart go out to the lad. He looked crushed.

“This is not a game, d'Artagnan,” Athos said bluntly, causing the younger man to look up and meet his eyes. “We do not train for fun. We do not fight for fun. This is not a game,” he repeated.

There was silence for several long seconds until Athos sat beside d'Artagnan on the bench.

“When I joined the regiment I wanted very much to be the best,” he said, his tone more gentle. “I, like you, came with no small amount of skill with a sword. I knew, however, that to be the best, I needed to improve my hand to hand and my shooting. I sought out the two best practitioners. They sit beside us now,” he said.

D'Artagnan glanced at Porthos and Aramis lounging on the stairs and turned back to Athos, meeting his eyes.

“Learn from them,” he said gently.

D'Artagnan nodded fervently and Athos smiled, seeing the fight return to his eyes.

“Porthos,” Athos said, slightly louder.

Porthos rose and he and d'Artagnan resumed sparring but Porthos became much more instructive. Aramis sat back down at the bench and poured himself and Athos a drink.

“You like him, I think,” Aramis said, handing Athos his cup. When Athos didn't reply Aramis chuckled to himself.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain Tréville selects d'Artagnan for a risky mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during and after Sleight of Hand

Captain!” protested Athos.

“Do you have a better idea?” he asked.

“One of us could-”

“No you, couldn't,” Tréville replied, cutting sharply across him.

“I agree that interrogation won't work and we need to do this by gaining his confidence, Captain,” Athos said slowly.

“But you disagree with my choice of man?”

“Yes, Captain,” Athos answered, lifting his chin.

“Noted,” Tréville said. “Get it done, Athos.”

  
  


  
  


Athos shared a drink in the tavern that night with Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan. The latter man was unusually quiet, having been informed of the Captain's plan. Athos didn't drink much and was watching him constantly.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked softly. D'Artagnan nodded without looking up.

“I am," he answered firmly. "It's just an awful lot of responsibility. What if he doesn't trust me?” he asked.

“If you feel that uncertain...” Athos began.

“I know I can do it. I do. I'm just... aware of how difficult it might be and how much is on the line,” he said, looking up.

“Go home and get some rest. Try not to think about it and we will call for you at first light,” Athos said, taking his wine from him.

D'Artagnan nodded, breathing deeply and took his leave of them. After he'd left, Athos drained both his and D'Artagnan's glasses.

“We should retire as well,” he said.

  
  


  
  


  
  


Instead of going home, Athos walked to the apartments Aramis and Porthos shared. He often did so when they had an early start but Aramis sensed Athos was uneasy about something.

“What is it?” he asked as the three of them unloaded their weapons onto the stands Porthos had bought them years earlier.

“I am... concerned,” Athos said slowly, pausing in undoing his doublet.

“In case the boy can't find out what we need?” Porthos asked.

“In case the boy is hurt?” Aramis asked, shrewdly.

“Both,” Athos said, finally removing his jacket. “More the latter,” he admitted. He kicked his boots off and walked over to flop onto their sofa.

Porthos knelt on the floor to remove Aramis' boots while he balanced himself on Porthos' shoulder. Aramis sat in his armchair and Porthos kicked his own off, taking his own chair opposite Athos.

“D'ya care about 'im?” Porthos asked.

Athos grimaced.

“Not like that,” Porthos clarified. “You just seem really concerned about 'im. That lecturing this morning was pretty intense.”

Athos stood suddenly.

“Good night, gentlemen. We have a busy morning. We're going to get our friend thrown in prison,” he said and swept from the room.

“Guess that's a yes?” said Aramis, grinning as they heard Athos' door close with a bang.

  
  


  
  


  
A few days later..   
  


“I'm fine, Athos,” d'Artagnan said, peering at him from the corner of his eye.

He was sat on the sofa in Aramis and Porthos' home beside Athos gazing into the fire distractedly. Athos was staring at him avidly.

“You killed a man,” Athos said gently, searching his face.

“I was right to do so,” he said bluntly. “It was not the first time and I believe I'm on the side of good here.”

“You are,” whispered Athos.

“We're going to bed,” said Aramis suddenly, rising to his feet. “Porthos can share with me tonight so that one, or both, of you can use the second bedroom if you so wish.”

D'Artagnan nodded his thanks to them but Athos didn't even glance round.

“You stay here quite often?” d'Artagnan asked after their door had closed.

Athos nodded without answering, still studying his face.

“They don't mind sharing a bed?”

“Not at all. They find it comforting,” Athos replied.

There was a long moment of silence.

“It felt different,” d'Artagnan said quietly.

Athos touched his shoulder gently.

“You came to know him,” Athos said softly.

To his horror, d'Artagnan felt his eyes filling with tears. He rubbed at them furiously.

“I shouldn't be upset!” he exclaimed and jumped to his feet.

He strode to the kitchen and leaned on the counter. He jumped as Athos touched his shoulder gently again.

“Why not?” he asked.

“He tried to kill me!” d'Artagnan exclaimed, turning to face Athos.

“I know,” Athos whispered.

D'Artagnan watched as a ripple of pain flashed across the older man's face.

“Athos?” he asked urgently. He stepped closer and rested his hand on the other man's shoulder. “Are you OK?”

“If you are,” Athos answered in a whisper, blue eyes searching brown.

Athos turned suddenly and left, rushing from the building, leaving d'Artagnan stunned.

  
  


  
  


  
  


“D'Artagnan?” asked Aramis gently.

He'd heard Athos leave in a rush and came to check on their young friend.

“What happened?” asked d'Artagnan, the hurt evident in his eyes.

Aramis debated what to say and decided honesty was the best option.

“Take a seat,” he said kindly, gesturing back to the hearth.

D'Artagnan moved slowly to the sofa, hearing Porthos join them. He sat heavily on the sofa and watched the two of them approach. They sat either side of him and he slumped back between them against the sofa. Porthos shared a glance with Aramis, the movement reminiscent of their older and absent friend.

“What do you know of Athos?” asked Aramis.

“I suspect much. I know very little,” d'Artagnan answered honestly.

“Look, we'll be as honest with you as we can but we won't betray his confidence,” Porthos interjected before Aramis could say anything.

D'Artagnan nodded.

“I would expect nothing less of such honourable men,” he said without looking up.

“You share that with him, you know,” murmured Aramis. “The easy courtesy, the kind words, the formality.”

“Formality,” echoed d'Artagnan.

“Athos...” Aramis began thoughtfully. “Athos uses personal space like armour. It took us months to get him to spend time with us. It took years for us to become close like we are. Believe it or not, he was more distant with us than he's ever been with you.”

D'Artagnan snorted and rubbed his hand over his face.

“So what happened? I'm tired and if you are able to tell me something to enable me to understand, I would have you tell me now so I may rest,” he said, exhaustion suddenly colouring his voice.

Aramis looked at Porthos for help.

“I think he is surprised at how quickly he's warmed to you and has been affected more than he expected by your nearly dying in a situation he feels responsible for putting you in,” Porthos said succinctly.

“He feels responsible?” d'Artagnan asked. “He was so against me doing it in the first place.”

“I think he feels responsible for you in general, lad,” Porthos said, shrugging.

D'Artagnan heaved himself to his feet.

“He doesn't want me to be a Musketeer at all, does he?” he asked, beginning to pace angrily.

“That's not true in the slightest,” Aramis replied wearily. He paused for a moment before continuing. “His exact words were 'promising but raw'. If he didn't think you should be a Musketeer, he never would have spoken up for you with the Captain after Jussac and would certainly not have called you promising,” Aramis said quickly.

D'Artagnan snorted again and Porthos pulled himself to his feet in response.

“I'm getting bloody sick of you doubting us, doubting him. Aramis made it clear to you that morning in the yard that **you** gave Athos no reason to trust you and yet he did anyway. Now we're telling you he's upset because he's begun to care about you and you don't believe us?” Porthos asked, angrily.

D'Artagnan scoffed and this brought Aramis to his feet as well.

“Believe it or not,” Aramis said, his voice growing sharp. “We know more about being Musketeers than you do and we know Athos better than you. Since you have had a very difficult few days, I am going to assume it is stress making you so rude tonight. Despite the fact that you rejected Athos' attempts to look after your welfare this evening, I will continue to give you the benefit of the doubt. I suggest you get some rest and sleep off this ridiculous attitude that makes you think you can stand in **our** home, insult **our** friend and doubt **our** words.”

D'Artagnan stared at him, struck dumb.

“You will find everything you need in the second bedroom. Porthos, we are going to bed,” Aramis said shortly, turning on his heel and returning to their bedroom.

 

 

 

It was a rather subdued morning at the garrison. D'Artagnan had left Porthos and Aramis' home before they'd risen but they were relieved to find him at the yard sharing breakfast with Athos.

Once they'd eaten, d'Artagnan and Porthos began training in hand to hand combat and Aramis took a seat beside their taciturn friend.

“Everything OK?” he asked.

“I fear I made something of a fool of myself last night,” Athos admitted. “Did you hear?”

“I did not. I heard you leave and checked on him. I'm afraid I became rather stern with him,” Aramis said softly.

Athos fixed him with his intense, piercing stare.

“Not like that. Peace, friend. We told him we thought you had been caught off guard by how quickly you'd come to care for him and were upset by how close to dying he was. He did not believe us and I nearly lost my temper at his constant attempts to see our words as lies,” Aramis explained.

Athos accepted the explanation and Aramis noted he didn't contradict their conclusions. They lapsed into silence and Aramis began cutting an apple into slices, offering one to Athos. He nudged him with his shoulder when Athos didn't notice. His blue eyes were fixed on the two wrestlers.

“How do you cope, seeing Porthos in danger?” Athos asked without turning his gaze away.

“I trust him to always come back to me,” Aramis answered. “It gets easier, Athos,” he added tentatively.

“I should not be more concerned for him than anyone else,” Athos sighed.

“Is it his age or...” Aramis trailed off.

Athos' blue eyes swept the yard.

“Would you join me for dinner tonight, brother?” he asked.

  
  


  
  


  
  


Aramis sat on the chest in Athos' quarters and watched his friend pacing. He had been asking guarded questions about Aramis' relationship with Porthos for an hour.

“You get very... fierce,” Athos said, frowning.

“Dominari est tueri,” Aramis replied, shrugging.

Athos froze and stared at Aramis.

“I don't mean that if you try to protect someone you're trying to dominate them but it does form part of my responsibility to him. I protect him,” Aramis explained.

“They're linked?” Athos asked, resuming his pacing.

“For me, yes. Part of it is simply the protective instinct of a Musketeer. Part of it that he is my brother. Part of it, like you, is that he is my best friend,” Aramis said inclining his head to Athos.

“And?” Athos prompted.

“And part of it is that I **am** responsible for him,” Aramis replied simply.

“Am I not?” asked Athos, frowning in thought.

“Because you're the senior officer?”

Athos nodded, still pacing across the small room.

“Not in the same way. Your responsibility to his safety is... it's a professional one. Mine, however, is permanent and irrevocable. I'm not just responsible for his physical safety. His emotional welfare is mine to look after as well.”

“Explain that to me,” Athos said, stopping with his back to Aramis and staring at the dark sky outside his window.

“He's a remarkably strong man. Stronger than even I realise, sometimes. If I see him in pain, struggling with something, I attempt to alleviate that quicker than he could alone. He can get himself through anything that crosses his path but most of his physical wounds would heal themselves, too. Doesn't stop me interfering. I tend to his wounds and I tend to his emotions,” Aramis said to Athos' back.

“You seek to minimise harm and ease any and all suffering?”

“Yes.”

“You are certain that sense of responsibility is beyond friendship?” he asked slowly.

Aramis pursed his lips.

“I don't mean to deride the bond the three of us share, but yes. While your being upset troubles us both, I am more invested in his well-being,” he said slowly. “I smile when he smiles, I laugh when he laughs and I hurt when he hurts.”

“I understand,” replied Athos, nodding to himself.

There was a long silence as Athos gathered his thoughts. Aramis waited patiently. He had learned the hard way not to push Athos when he was struggling to put something into words. Athos sat heavily on the edge of his bed and rubbed his face with one hand.

“I don't understand the difference between wanting to protect a friend and wanting to protect... someone else. Is it because he's young do you think?” Athos asked, dropping the hypothetical questions.

“You know better than I do, friend. I suspect not, though,” Aramis said quietly.

Athos groaned and flopped back on his bed. Aramis smiled at the gesture. It was an uncharacteristically open movement. Athos was not a man who often liked to show weakness.

“How do I find out?” Athos asked the ceiling.

“I cannot answer that question for you, Athos. You know that,” Aramis replied gently, earning another groan from Athos.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> D'Artagnan learns the effect his doubts have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set at the same time as Aramis and Athos' in the previous chapter.

“Aramis and Athos aren't here?” d'Artagnan asked, frowning as he took his sword belt off.

“Just us, lad,” Porthos said, hanging his doublet up. “They're having dinner together and I get bored on me own.”

“They do this often?” d'Artagnan asked, crossing to the hearth.

“Boots,” called Porthos.

“Oh come on! He's not actually here to be precious about the rug!” he answered, laughing.

“I value me hide too much to let you get me in that kinda trouble,” Porthos answered, his own great booming laugh sounding across the room.

“Oh come on,” d'Artagnan teased. “It's not like you couldn't take him in a fight! I'm going to be feeling today for days!”

Porthos simply laughed and kicked his boots off before settling one end of the sofa, cards in his hands. D'Artagnan chuckled and removed his own before curling up comfortably on the other end of the sofa.

They passed the evening comfortably, good-naturedly teasing each other about their continued sparring.

“So?” asked d'Artagnan suddenly.

“So... what?” asked Porthos, frowning.

“Do they do this often?” he asked, repeating his question from earlier.

“Oh. Sometimes. They think quite similarly so when they've got something on their mind they take time together. Usually they chat here while I just listen,” Porthos answered, shrugging.

“So what's changed?” the younger man asked sharply.

Porthos mentally kicked himself.

“Nothing. Just fancied a change of scenery, I guess,” Porthos said loudly.

“They're talking about me, aren't they?” d'Artagnan asked, not fooled.

Porthos gave a non-committal grunt but d'Artagnan rose to his feet and began pacing.

“Athos regrets speaking up for me with the Captain, doesn't he?”

Porthos sighed heavily and ran his hands through his hair.

“No,” he said tersely.

“Of course he does! He's trying to find out from Aramis how to send me away. What else could it be? Of course he wants rid of me. I'm just a farm boy, am I not?” d'Artagnan asked angrily, lifting his chin defiantly.

“Enough!” roared Porthos, rising to his feet.

At that moment the door opened and their brothers stood in the doorway looking between them. The silence that hung in the room was a palpable, heavy thing. Porthos looked sheepish, d'Artagnan still looked angry, Aramis looked puzzled but Athos was staring daggers at Porthos. D'Artagnan was the first to speak.

“I shall take my leave, then!” he said loudly, tossing his head.

Porthos sighed heavily. Aramis narrowed his eyes at the noise from Porthos and crossed to the stands, meeting d'Artagnan who was reaching for his sword belt. He lay a hand gently on his arm to hold him steady.

“What did you say to upset him?” Aramis asked the Gascon, sternly.

D'Artagnan pulled his arm away from Aramis' touch.

“I shall not bother you any longer. You have all made it perfectly clear this evening that my continued presence among you is unwelcome,” he said haughtily, pulling his sword belt from the stand.

Aramis removed his hat, placing it on the stand and watched him doing his belt up.

“Porthos?” he asked without taking his eyes off the angry young man who was now looking for his boots.

“I'm sorry for shouting at the lad but I'm so bloody tired of him insisting we're trying to send him away,” Porthos said quickly.

Aramis closed his eyes in understanding.

“He thinks Athos and I were discussing ways to get rid of him,” Aramis said. It wasn't a question but Porthos nodded anyway.

“Weren't you?” d'Artagnan asked rudely, his hands on his hips.

“Enough,” came Athos' quiet voice from the doorway.

Three pairs of brown eyes turned to look at him.

“D'Artagnan,” he said softly. “Would you do me the kindness of letting me speak to you before you choose a course of action?”

D'Artagnan eyed him warily.

“Porthos and I will give you some space,” Aramis said quietly and the two of them quickly moved into the bedroom.

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air.

“You've stopped attempting to leave. Does this mean I am able to speak to you?” Athos said calmly, removing his hat and gloves.

In answer d'Artagnan strode back to the sofa and flung himself down. Athos nodded and slowly removed his boots, watching d'Artagnan constantly.

“I am not a frightened rabbit that will run if you take your eyes off me,” d'Artagnan said, crossly.

Athos ignored this comment and crossed to the sofa, carefully placing his sword belt and pistol on Aramis' chair as he passed. He sat down on the sofa, pulling his legs up and facing d'Artagnan calmly.

“I feel remarkably protective towards you,” Athos said, searching his face. “More so than the others.”

“You still don't trust me!” d'Artagnan cried, pushing himself to his feet.

“Please sit down,” Athos said steadily.

“You don't deny it, then?” d'Artagnan huffed, flinging himself back down.

Athos raised an eyebrow at the slumped Gascon.

“Perhaps you could respect me enough to listen attentively?”

D'Artagnan glared but pulled himself up to listen. Athos nodded approvingly and watched the frown lines smooth out on d'Artagnan's forehead.

“I feel more protective of you than the others,” Athos repeated. “I do not yet understand why. I believe some of it is that you are considerably younger than any of us.”

D'Artagnan opened his mouth to reply but shut it again when Athos held his hand up.

“I do, however, understand that a lot of people join the military and place themselves in harm's way at the same age as you. Aramis, himself, was younger than you are when he left home,” Athos said.

D'Artagnan frowned.

“You said some of it?” he asked quietly. Athos winced.

“I believe there is more to it but I don't know what,” Athos replied honestly.

D'Artagnan's frown deepened. The older man watched in silence as several emotions passed across the Gascon's face, too quick for Athos to follow.

“I... I don't know what to say to that,” he replied slowly. Eventually he lifted his chin, the pride of Gascony lighting his eyes and forcing him to face the problem head on.

“I feel more urge to impress and to follow you than I do the others. Including the Captain. Similarly, I do not know if it's because you are the senior officer or... something else,” d'Artagnan said, his voice growing softer.

“I would... My emotions are not as easily accessible as others. Aramis loves easily. Porthos laughs easily. You anger easily,” Athos said quietly, his lips twitching up into a smile.

D'Artagnan smiled and inclined his head in acknowledgement.

“I do not find any emotion easy to recognise or deal with,” Athos continued slowly. “I understand that the three of us can be impenetrable and that you have fallen foul of our protective instincts a couple of times.”

D'Artagnan chuckled slightly in agreement.

“May I ask you something, d'Artagnan?” Athos asked softly.

He nodded again, looking up at the hesitant note in the Musketeer's voice.

“Why do you believe we're lying to you?”

“I- Lying?” d'Artagnan asked, stunned.

“You think we're trying to get rid of you. We've told you we're not. You don't believe us,” Athos pressed.

“I didn't... I don't mean to imply your words are false. I just... I don't want...” d'Artagnan trailed off. He sighed in frustration.

“Take your time,” Athos said quietly.

“It feels too good to trust. I don't know if I can really do this. Make my own life far from Gascony. Far from everything I know,” he whispered. “I think... What if I devote myself to the Musketeers and it's taken away from me? What if you **do** get rid of me? What if the something else...” he trailed off. Athos watched him for a minute but when he seemed unable to continue, Athos replied.

“We are speaking the truth when we tell you we are not trying to do so. Perhaps I didn't make it clear last night but I am proud of you. You handled yourself excellently with Vadim,” Athos said quietly.

A flicker of pride ran across d'Artagnan's face and Athos smiled.

“I understand the feeling of too good to be true. I know from experience that good things don't always last. Please accept my word, and try not to doubt it, that those men and myself will not cast you away,” Athos said softly. “Do you understand why it makes them angry? Why it upsets me?”

D'Artagnan frowned thoughtfully and then shook his head slowly.

“It feels as though you're trying to push us away,” Athos explained. He nodded approvingly as a light of understanding switched on in d'Artagnan's eyes. “As I say, I understand you have been slightly burned by how fierce we can be for each other,” he continued.

“Nothing would discourage me from spending time with you,” he said quickly.

Athos looked suddenly severe.

“Is there something I **should** know?” d'Artagnan asked, shrewdly.

“Nothing is a remarkably large word to use,” Athos said carefully.

D'Artagnan opened his mouth and shut it again seeing the blue eyes searching his.

“OK,” he replied quietly after a moment. “I have seen nothing as yet to discourage me. Would that suffice?”

“It would. Please accept my word that none of us are trying to drive you away. I understand our friends have made their frustration at this lack of faith well known. I, too, tire of seeing you insist you are not welcome here. I acknowledge, however, some of that is their doing and a lot of it is my doing. If I endeavour to show more faith and trust in you, will you agree to put more effort into becoming a team member and not distancing yourself?” Athos asked quietly.

D'Artagnan took a deep breath and nodded.

“I promise,” he answered, surprising himself at how quiet his voice sounded.

There was a silence between them and Athos noticed the fire was dying in the hearth.

“Will you be returning to Bonacieux's house tonight or would you like to stay here?” Athos asked, startling d'Artagnan.

“I was not invited to stay in their home. I would not like to impose on them,” he said. Athos raised an eyebrow. “But you know them more than I. If you are certain I am welcome here, I would like to stay,” he added.

Athos nodded approvingly and d'Artagnan's young face broke into an easy smile.

“Make yourself comfortable in the second bedroom and I will be here, should you need me,” Athos said.

“I...” he began, hesitating. Athos raised an eyebrow and d'Artagnan rushed on. “I would not like to be alone,” he admitted, casting his eyes to the floor.

“D'Artagnan?”

Athos leaned forward and rested his hand on d'Artagnan's knee.

“Please don't tell the others but I... I fear I will wake up alone in that cellar,” he admitted.

“I will not tell them. I give you my word. Understand, though, you can. You are not the only one among us with experiences that trouble our sleep,” Athos replied. He squeezed d'Artagnan's knee again and froze as the younger man clasped his hand in his own.

“Will you stay with me?” he whispered, still not meeting Athos' eyes.

The unusually rough, hesitant note in d'Artagnan's normally bold voice tore at Athos' heart. He felt a lump in his own throat at the sound.

“Of course,” he replied, forcing his own voice to stay calm. His composure was tested still further when d'Artagnan's eyes finally met his own and there were tears in them. “Come,” he murmured, standing and holding his hand out.

D'Artagnan stood slowly and let Athos lead him to the second bedroom. He sat him on the bed and crouched to look up into the brown eyes.

“D'Artagnan, please. There is no need for shame here. You made me a promise that you would stop trying to distance yourself. This is the moment to prove you meant it. I'm going to attend to the fire. I'd like you to get ready for bed and I'll be back shortly,” Athos said softly.

D'Artagnan nodded and Athos took his leave. He stood shaking his head furiously at the fire for a few minutes. He was confused. There was a definite part of him that was aroused by the idea of having d'Artagnan in his arms but that was easily suppressed. There was an almost frighteningly intense desire to simply take care of him. He wanted to keep him safe, protected.

Athos moved into the kitchen and poured himself a small measure of wine to calm his nerves. While they were definitely still present, his more carnal desires were a faint shadow behind this almost primal need to protect his... his... son?

Athos choked on his wine. Is that what this was? Is that what made it feel slightly different to the protectiveness he had for his brothers? He felt more fatherly towards d'Artagnan? But there were certainly feelings there he had for d'Artagnan as a man. Dear God. He needed to talk to Aramis.

First, though... d'Artagnan.

He drained the rest of the wine and walked quietly back to the bedroom. He found d'Artagnan sat on the narrow bed in just his braies and loose shirt. He'd pressed himself against the wall facing the door, his knees hugged to his chest.

“Rest, d'Artagnan. I will make a bed here beside you,” Athos murmured.

“You won't... I meant...” d'Artagnan trailed off. Athos waited patiently, gazing at him. “OK,” he said finally.

Athos frowned. Watching d'Artagnan force down emotion was painful to see. He sat on the edge of the bed and rested his hand on the younger man's ankle.

“Trust me,” he murmured.

“Please stay with me,” d'Artagnan whispered, his cheeks flushing.

“OK,” Athos replied, suddenly hoarse.

As he undid the buttons on his doublet, he turned slightly to hide his trembling hands from d'Artagnan's sight. He stood to remove his jacket and was surprised when d'Artagnan jumped up and took it from him. Athos watched as he carefully hung it in the wardrobe that held Porthos' things.

Athos chose to keep his breeches on and forced himself to stay calm as he settled into the bed against the wall, tugging the pillow into place and pressing his back up against the wall. He felt his heart leap into his mouth as he saw d'Artagnan hesitating. Just as he was about to say something, d'Artagnan visibly shook himself and slid gracefully into bed, his back to Athos.

“I apologise for acting like a frightened puppy,” he said softly.

“If a puppy is not used to the sound of horse's hooves, we do not shout at it. We comfort it so it will learn to trust us. As long as we show that puppy there is nothing to fear, it will grow bolder and stronger. You have nothing to fear from me. From us. Do not be ashamed of seeking comfort, d'Artagnan,” Athos murmured.

He hesitantly reached a hand out and touched d'Artagnan's waist. He wasn't surprised to feel the younger man jump at the contact.

“You must be almost on the floor. Come closer. I am willing to provide whatever closeness you need,” Athos said softly.

D'Artagnan shuffled backwards until he was just touching Athos and he froze. Athos bit his lip nervously and wrapped an arm around the slender waist, pulling him back against his body. He smiled to himself as he felt d'Artagnan gasp in surprise and then a sudden shudder run through him.

They lay in silence for several minutes, both too tense to relax. While this was definitely about d'Artagnan's comfort, they both felt the weight of that something else in the air.

“Relax,” Athos murmured into d'Artagnan's ear and felt him shiver.

Gradually, d'Artagnan did as he was bid, consciously relaxing each part of his body. He slowly melted against Athos' body, sighing as the arm tightened around his waist. Athos closed his eyes tightly at the feeling of the slighter man trusting him this way and feeling him slowly unwind in his arms.

“Good puppy,” he teased lightly.

D'Artagnan laughed softly and nuzzled closer to Athos and the older man couldn't resist inhaling deeply as the dark head moved to share the pillow.

Athos endeavoured to stay awake to look out for him but he found that all the tension he'd felt since d'Artagnan was taken by the red guards had been leeched from his body. Every one of the sleeping man's slow breaths was like a calming tonic and finally, he felt himself drifting off with d'Artagnan in his arms.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after Commodities. We see Aramis and Porthos return home and a melancholy Athos walk off.  
> This is a few hours later.

Athos groaned, the knocking in his head growing louder. He opened his eyes and groaned again as the knocking continued.

“Athos?” came a voice through the door.

“Go away!” he shouted at it.

The door opened and someone entered Athos' small quarters. He closed the door behind him and knelt beside Athos on the floor.

“Leave me!” he shouted angrily, pulling his arm away as hands landed on his arm.

“No,” said d'Artagnan softly.

Athos turned his head so quickly it made his head throb. Why was d'Artagnan here? He'd assumed it would be Aramis. After everything d'Artagnan had found out, why was **he** here? After the disgraceful way Athos had acted? After... her?

“Why are you here?” he asked bluntly, the wine making it impossible to answer the question himself.

“I thought you might need someone to check on you. It's been a rough couple of days,” d'Artagnan answered, laying his hand on Athos' shoulder again.

“Whyyyy are **you** here?” he asked again, squinting at the hand on his shoulder.

“Because I'm a remarkably faithful puppy,” he answered with a grin, standing and hauling Athos to his feet.

“Puppy?” Athos mumbled, stumbling as d'Artagnan steered him to the bed. He sat down heavily.

“That's me,” d'Artagnan answered, grinning.

Athos watched blearily as d'Artagnan stripped him down to his shirt. He barely noticed the younger man wrinkle his nose.

“Is this the same shirt you were wearing in the fire?” he asked, picking at the huge patches of black. Getting no answer from the drunk man, he pulled it off and deposited it on the pile. He added Athos' boots and hose to the collection and looked down at him.

“Athos?” he asked uncertainly as Athos seemed to be elsewhere. His mouth was open and his eyes were glassed over. “Athos?” he asked again.

Athos frowned, focussing on d'Artagnan again. He let d'Artagnan push him sideways into bed.

“Puppy,” Athos murmured, squinting at him.

“I'm still here, yep,” d'Artagnan said, smiling softly. He sat on the bed next to Athos. “Will you be OK now?”

“Puppy,” he repeated, reaching vaguely for him.

D'Artagnan removed his sword belt, dropping it onto the floor, and followed the hands. He lay down beside Athos, who flopped onto his front, his head on d'Artagnan's chest and draped his arm across the flat stomach. The younger man frowned, slightly startled and tried to get back up but felt Athos growing heavier against him as he fell asleep within seconds. D'Artagnan chuckled to himself and tried to kick his boots off. He succeeded after a few minutes and managed to get comfortable enough to sleep with Athos nestled against his side.

  
  


  
  


  
  


“More questions about Porthos?” Aramis asked, laughing.

“Yes,” replied Athos, scowling slightly.

He'd woken up with d'Artagnan in his bed and couldn't remember how they'd gotten there. He was in dire need of Aramis' counsel.

“I would not be parted with him at the moment,” the smiling man replied.

“I understand. Are you... Can he...” Athos trailed off, unsure how to ask what he wanted.

“He won't interject, if that's what worries you,” Aramis answered.

Athos looked over at the sofa where Porthos was dozing on his stomach. They'd been given the day off after a difficult journey where Porthos had been seriously injured.

“How is he?”

“Oh fine,” Aramis said lightly. “As I'm sure you can appreciate it's sore and still healing but there will be no lasting damage. I have given him a mild sleeping draught since he keeps fidgeting and struggles to get comfortable on his stomach. He barely slept last night so this will help.”

“You control him,” said Athos unexpectedly.

“I do,” answered Aramis. He was silently pleased Athos had stopped being so cagey when it came to these discussions.

“It isn't sexual?”

“Explain?” asked Aramis slowly.

“The control aspect of your relationship... It's not about your private lives. It's not about romance. It's...” he trailed off, struggling for words.

“It is the nature of how we relate to one another but, as you know, it does inform our sexual encounters,” Aramis replied carefully.

“But it's... the love you have for one another... it's... it's separate?” Athos asked, still struggling.

“No,” Aramis answered, frowning in confusion.

Athos stared at the floor and Aramis recognised his brooding expression. It had taken years for Athos to be willing to show this level of vulnerability and it was still rare.

“It's how we love one another,” Aramis said, trying to help. “It's just the way we relate to each other. I control him because I love him and I love him because I control him. It's all the same thing. It's the nature of our relationship and it's as instinctive as breathing.”

“Do you...” Athos began but trailed off again.

“Please. Try to speak plainly, Athos,” Aramis said, gently.

Athos huffed out a breath.

“You know I took him into my arms that night to provide a source of comfort,” Athos began. He saw Aramis raise his eyebrows but was grateful he didn't comment. “I was almost desperate to comfort him. I believe you may have discerned before I that I have certain physical feelings for him but that is not what I felt that night.”

Athos stood and began pacing across the rug. Aramis watched him silently, glancing occasionally at the still sleeping Porthos.

“I felt an almost paternal desire to look after him. It felt as if I were protecting and comforting my own son, having seen him in danger. Is that why you're so fiercely protective of Porthos?”

“No,” answered Aramis, honestly. “There's nothing paternal about it between us. I am protecting someone who is my own but it's not a fatherly feeling, no.”

Athos stopped pacing and ran his hands angrily through his hair.

“Am I identifying it incorrectly in myself, then?” he asked.

“Might I make an observation?” Aramis asked gently. When Athos didn't reply he continued. “I understand you have no living family. Perhaps when he came to garrison in dire need of a father figure, it answered a need you have? The need to protect and care for someone as your own?”

Athos' frown deepened.

“Last night he came to my quarters and spent the night with me. He provided me comfort when I didn't recognise I needed it,” he said quietly, returning to the armchair and sitting down heavily.

“You needed comfort?” Aramis asked, unable to keep the guilt out of his voice. He'd been so distracted looking after Porthos he must have missed his best friend's needs.

“I didn't know it. Nor did you. The fact that he saw it when none of us did is a credit to him, not a slight against our friendship,” Athos said firmly, correctly guessing why Aramis was asking, “That's not my point.”

“I apologise. What was your point?”

“He provided comfort to me. He came to me. I thought... Is it wrong of me to accept comfort from someone I have... feelings for?”

“No,” answered Aramis immediately. “It's part of the feelings you have for him, surely? You seem to be answering some need in him and this would indicate he answers a need in you. One provides care for their dog but the dog protects their owner, too.”

Athos stifled a laugh at his choice of analogy and waved his curious look away. He cast a nervous glance at Porthos who was still snoring lightly.

“What of sexual conduct?” Athos asked quietly.

“I think that can either be an intrinsic part of how you relate, an entirely separate facet or somewhere in between,” Aramis answered, lowering his voice. Something dawned on him, seeing the deep frown on Athos' face.

“This is why you asked if they're separate? You... You fear that you paternal instincts towards him are driving your physical attraction?” he asked carefully.

Athos' knuckles turned white as he gripped his own knees.

“I don't think you genuinely believe that, my dear Athos,” said Aramis, shaking his head. “You accept that our physical relationship with you is a separate one from our friendship. You acknowledge that in those moments when you place yourself at our mercy it is removed from our relationship.”

“Not for the two of you,” Athos replied, stiffly.

“Of course it is. You may have never seen it but you know we occasionally trade places and I will place myself in his hands. You have seen some of the control I have over him. Do you think that could ever entirely evaporate? The way we act and the way we feel are not always the same, Athos. Do you genuinely consider yourself his new Father?”

“No,” said Athos quickly. After a pause he continued. “I don't think I am his Father. I just acknowledge that extra layer of protectiveness and affection I have for him are paternal in nature. I want him as man,” he said, a flush creeping up the back of his neck.

“I believe you have your answer then, friend,” Aramis said softly.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos talks to Aramis about his treatment of d'Artagnan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after The Homecoming

Their time together passed more easily in the weeks that followed. Slowly, they learned to trust each other. The three inseparables learned to trust d'Artagnan more and more and, for his part, d'Artagnan watched the three of them together and began to understand why they took longer to trust than most. Their time together was not without stumbles but they gradually grew closer and closer.

It was after one of these stumbles that Athos and Aramis had an argument. Porthos had been accused of murder and d'Artagnan had asked if he was possibly guilty.

“It was ridiculously unfair of you,” muttered Athos, pacing across the room.

They were gathered once again at Aramis and Porthos' home while d'Artagnan spent the night at Bonacieux's house. Athos had been pacing for several minutes while lecturing Aramis. Aramis was sat on the sofa watching him and Porthos was stretched out on the sofa with his head in Aramis' lap, enjoying the closeness after a trying few days apart.

“He should have known better,” said Aramis, stroking Porthos' hair calmly.

“You were rough with him,” Athos insisted, scowling across at them.

“He was unkind,” Aramis replied, shrugging.

“He only said what if, Aramis. That's all. We are expected to explore every avenue,” Athos said, mildly.

“That's not an avenue. You didn't believe it for a second. Nor did you stop me,” Aramis countered.

“True,” Athos said with a sigh. “But after all he did for you with Marsac?”

“Perhaps I was slightly unfair. I just... How could he have come to know Porthos and think he wouldn't have remembered that? Even if such a terrible accident had occurred, he would never have lied about it. Perhaps that is what upset me?”

“I doubt that,” Athos smirked. “I think you would have done the same to Porthos if he, himself, had asked what if.”

He kicked his boots off and flung himself down in Aramis' armchair. He watched the silent Porthos for a few minutes.

“Is he asleep?” he asked.

“I think so. Not deeply but I think he's dozing, yes,” Aramis said, his voice soft.

Athos felt his heart ache at the tenderness in Aramis' voice, the affection in his hand on Porthos' hair. He watched Aramis' face for a few seconds. When he first met the two of them, they made him feel less alone. There had been occasions when he had joined them more intimately and he'd felt even less alone. There were times, however, like this. He would never tell them this for fear of upsetting them but on occasion, seeing them like this, seeing the naked love they had for each other, made his very soul ache, knowing he'd never have that.

Athos would never voice such a feeling to either of them. On balance, seeing their love for each other and feeling their warmth did him much more good than pretending it didn't exist would. It still hurt at times, though.

“Would you like me to apologise to him?” asked Aramis, breaking Athos' train of thought.

“Hm? No. I don't think so. I believe it probably did him some good to be admonished for forgetting to trust us,” Athos answered thoughtfully.

“Do you think he suspects some of what is between Porthos and I?” Aramis asked, quietly.

“I don't believe so. I think he understands the two of you are far closer than either of you are with me. Certainly more fiercely protective. I believe the word he used about you when Porthos was struck last month was 'savage'. Porthos' tension around Marsac was palpable,” Athos replied calmly.

Aramis sighed heavily and gazed down at Porthos, who had begun to snore slightly.

“I feel like we're hiding part of ourselves from him,” he mused.

“Aramis...” Athos began.

“No, no. I would never tell him, Athos. I do understand it's a burden knowing about us. If you recall it was in dire circumstances you discovered it after years. Don't think we don't know what position it put you in. The others that know... they... We still have to hide from them. You... The acceptance you give us cannot be underestimated,” Aramis said earnestly. “We would never intentionally put him in an uncomfortable position. I know this will ruffle your feathers but I would also not risk exposing Porthos to someone unless I could trust him entirely.”

As Aramis had predicted, Athos glared slightly at these words but he considered them before answering.

“You mean you would learn more about his position on the matter to be certain of his response?” he asked.

“Yes. That's a much better way of putting it. I would not expose Porthos to someone I wasn't certain would accept him,” Aramis replied, nodding eagerly.

“I understand. For obvious reasons I would like to know more about his opinion on the matter,” Athos said bitterly. “You know the more time we spend together, the more likely it is he will notice. Certainly the more time we spend here,” he pointed out.

“I know,” said Aramis frowning.

They sat quietly, both watching Porthos sleep peacefully.

“Is he OK?” Athos asked, nodding at him.

“I'm not sure yet. I think so. I need to talk to him about that young man I killed. I think he meant more to Porthos than we realise.”

“He was responsible for the whole mess, wasn't he?” Athos asked, quietly.

Aramis smiled sadly at Athos.

“I believe so but I think we're all wise enough to know that one bad deed isn't always enough to erase years of affection,” he replied.

Athos had no answer for this and Aramis watched, dismayed, as Athos' familiar brooding expression spread across his face.

“The reverse is true also, friend. Redemption is possible for even the most terrible of sinners,” Aramis said gently, peering at him.

“You still believe that, Aramis? After all this time?”

“I have seen no evidence to the contrary. God is a force of love in this world, Athos. Not of hate or vengeance. He will not abandon any of His children to punish them for a mistake. Nor will He disregard a man's efforts to redeem himself,” Aramis insisted.

Athos nodded once, acknowledging Aramis' words. They fell silent after that. The only sounds in the room were the crackle of the flames in the hearth and Porthos' quietly rumbling snores.

Athos understood what Aramis was getting at but he didn't know what he'd done. To love someone and then... No. He was beyond salvation now. He knew that. There was a tiny glimmer of hope, though. Aramis knew more about scripture and dogma than anyone in Athos' life. He was certainly more devout than several priests he'd met. Was it true? If he continued his life in this path, in the service of his King and France itself, would he approach redemption? No. There would be no peace for him after what he did to her. He wasn't just responsible for his own actions, he was now responsible for hers. He'd created this creature.

Athos lifted his head and looked around the room. The fire was beginning to die and he could see Aramis' eyes growing heavy as he watched Porthos.

“I shall see you tomorrow,” Athos murmured, pulling himself to his feet.

“OK,” Aramis said sleepily. “I should wake him but I can't bear it.”

Athos nodded and tugged his boots on. He glanced back at them as he reached the door and saw Aramis bending his head to Porthos' ear. These moments might hurt occasionally but the warmth between the two gave him hope and that was worth all the twinges in his heart.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after The Exiles

Athos smirked slightly, watching d'Artagnan from where he sat on the bench. He was full of energy and was taking both Porthos and Aramis on in a sword fight back at the yard. He couldn't begrudge the man his excitement.

They'd just returned from reuniting a woman with her child. The infant had been abducted by people who would manipulate his life and it was a direct result of d'Artagnan's plan they had managed to recover the child.

Aramis' laugh rang through the yard and he held his hands up.

“I yield! I have been bested!” he cried dramatically.

D'Artagnan laughed good-naturedly and turned to look expectantly at Porthos.

“Not a chance,” Porthos said smirking and beckoned him with one hand.

Athos continued to smile affectionately, watching the two. Aramis sat beside him and helped himself to some fruit.

“The boy did good, no?” he asked, slyly.

“He did,” Athos murmured.

Aramis chuckled and Athos turned to peer at him.

“The pride in your voice is heart warming,” Aramis replied, his voice low.

“Pride?”

“Indeed, my friend. I think you feel proud of his conduct during these events and it's nice to see,” he explained.

“I do,” Athos said softly.

“Tell him,” Aramis said, nudging him with his shoulder.

“Let him enjoy the elation before I bring him back down,” Athos said.

“You don't mean to say...” Aramis trailed off, confused.

Athos smiled at him.

“I am well aware of my shortcomings, Aramis. No matter how much praise I lavish upon him, I know I am not as... fun. I would like him... I enjoy watching him cut loose so I am content to wait,” Athos explained, his voice dropping so nobody else could hear.

Aramis smiled and squeezed Athos' knee.

“I enjoy hearing you speak affectionately, my friend,” he said softly.

Athos inclined his head in reply and they fell silent, watching Porthos and d'Artagnan. After only a few minutes, Aramis couldn't resist jumping back into the fray and danced around d'Artagnan easily, distracting him from Porthos' advances.

“Athos! I beg you! Save us!” Aramis called, laughing, a few minutes later.

While he was definitely tiring, d'Artagnan's exuberance was keeping him going. Athos was watching the three affectionately.

“Yeah, come on, Athos. Come and play,” Porthos grinned at him.

“It is not a game,” d'Artagnan said, suddenly severe.

Athos felt a ripple of pride as the Gascon repeated his words from months ago. He watched Aramis and Porthos both stop and smirked.

“Indeed not,” he said, drawing himself to his feet.

D'Artagnan felt his pulse racing, watching Athos slowly walk towards him. He was dimly aware of Aramis and Porthos melting away and returning to the table. He, however, only had eyes for the man calmly watching him with that infuriating and mesmerising smirk.

“Perhaps in celebration of your well executed plan, however,” Athos said slowly. He drew his sword slowly and turned to face d'Artagnan. “I could indulge you a little.”

  
  


  
  


  
  


Aramis sighed happily, leaning back in his chair. The four of them had dined at Porthos and Aramis' apartments for a change and it had been a jovial affair. He'd been watching Athos and d'Artagnan closely all afternoon and evening and something had definitely unbent between them.

They touched each other more naturally, more frequently. Athos' eyes held a tenderness that only someone who knew him could see. Aramis wasn't certain even d'Artagnan could see it. He was, however, certain that anyone could see the blatant hero worship in the Gascon's eyes. He oriented himself always to where Athos was. He followed him around the room, never spoke over him, always jumped up to refill his glass. He smirked to himself.

The pair moved to the sofa while Aramis and Porthos cleared up the dishes. When they settled into their armchairs, Aramis smiled to see d'Artagnan slumped against Athos' side.

“Had a little too much excitement today lad?” Porthos asked, grinning.

D'Artagnan tried to sit up but Athos wrapped an arm around his shoulders and held him firmly. The older man looked suddenly surprised at his own action and then positively terrified as the sleepy Gascon rubbed his head against him, nestling onto his shoulder. He looked at Aramis for help.

“Perhaps you should stay here tonight?” Porthos asked.

Aramis grinned, making no effort to help.

D'Artagnan nodded, his head nuzzling into Athos' shoulder again.

“Yeah,” he said drowsily. “I'll just rest my eyes for now, though.”

Athos looked like a startled deer as d'Artagnan curled his legs up on the sofa, leaning heavily against the warm body beside him. There was silence in the room as d'Artagnan clearly fell asleep. As he began to drunkenly snore lightly, the three musketeers laughed quietly.

“You seem to be getting closer,” Porthos observed.

Athos didn't reply and simply watched the younger man affectionately.

  
  


  
  


A couple of hours later, d'Artagnan was woken by the sound of movement around him. He attempted to sit upright suddenly but felt an arm tighten around his shoulders. He relaxed instantly, remembering where he was and whose arm it was. Lifting his head he smiled drowsily at Athos.

“Bedtime young man,” Athos murmured.

He stood and pulled d'Artagnan with him, leading him to the bedroom. He undid his doublet and turned to find d'Artagnan had removed his doublet and shirt already and was yawning hugely as he began to undo his breeches. Athos found himself utterly captivated by the sight of d'Artagnan's skin.

The candle he'd lit bathed him in a gently flickering glow that made his skin look darker than it really was. He felt his mouth go dry, watching the muscles in his shoulders move as he rested his hands on his hips. He felt a tightness in his groin as d'Artagnan's spine rippled when he bent to push his breeches down.

He quickly averted his eyes so d'Artagnan couldn't see him admiring his body so openly. He shed his own doublet but left the rest of his clothes on.

As before, he settled in against the wall with d'Artagnan in his arms. Unlike last time, however, d'Artagnan chose to lay facing Athos and burrowed his face into Athos' chest, finding the skin between the opening of his shirt.

Athos lay uncertainly for a moment before laying his arm across d'Artagnan, his hand tentatively resting on the small of his back. D'Artagnan sighed softly and nuzzled Athos' chest.

“Your heart is fast,” he murmured.

“Is it?” Athos asked, lightly. He was surprised it wasn't jostling d'Artagnan since it seemed it was hammering hard enough to hurt.

D'Artagnan pressed a kiss to Athos' skin and Athos was surprised his heart didn't stop altogether. He forgot to breathe as d'Artagnan kissed the skin over his heart again, his lips lingering, brushing across the hair.

Finally d'Artagnan turned his head to the side and pressed his body against Athos, settling peacefully. Athos tentatively ran his hand up his spine and back down the skin he'd admired so much, settling again on the small of his back. A shiver ran through d'Artagnan and he pressed himself more firmly against Athos.

The older man felt a certain part of d'Artagnan pressed against him that let him know he was not the only one affected by being this close. He closed his eyes and counted slowly to ten. When he opened his eyes again, d'Artagnan's body had relaxed and he was falling asleep. Athos exhaled slowly and buried his face into the dark hair beneath his chin. Tonight was not the night to act on that but it gave Athos a certain glimmer of hope that there was a possibility there.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos acts unusually secretive after receiving an assignment from Captain Tréville.

“Athos!”

The Musketeer stopped at the sound of his name and turned. He found his three friends hurrying to catch up with him in the street.

“Yes?”

“Goodness, friend!” Aramis cried as the trio finally reached him. “We have been calling your name for the last five minutes!”

“I apologise,” he replied. He turned away from them and continued walking, albeit slower.

“You seem distracted,” d'Artagnan said quietly, falling into step beside him.

“Indeed,” Athos said flatly.

“Is it something to do with our mission?” the younger man asked.

Athos turned his blue eyes on d'Artagnan as they walked, peering from beneath the brim of his hat.

“Why do you ask?” Athos said carefully.

“When the Captain was handing out assignments this morning he told us you already had ours and we were to discuss it with you, not him. He told us you had all that we need,” he explained, shrugging.

They continued to walk in silence, hearing Aramis and Porthos chattering behind them.

“Athos?” prompted d'Artagnan.

“I do, yes. We are to escort someone to Paris,” Athos said. He peered around them carefully and lowered his voice so d'Artagnan had to strain to hear it. “We are to do so under the utmost secrecy. We must not be seen by anyone. Not even the rest of the regiment.”

“Who?”

“I cannot speak of it here.”

“Bonacieux's house?”

“No,” Athos said softly.

“You can't think Constance- We've spoken to her before!” d'Artagnan protested loudly, stopping in the street

“Nobody can know,” Athos hissed, also halting. He lifted his head enough to meet the fiery Gascon's eyes. He held them in silence for a moment, long enough for the other two men to reach them.

“Sorry,” d'Artagnan whispered, dropping his gaze. Athos nodded once and turned to the others.

“Your landlord is away?”

“Yep,” Porthos answered, frowning at the two of them.

“Then that is where we will talk. Not before,” Athos said, finality colouring his tone.

  
  


  
  


Aramis let them in to the apartments he and Porthos shared. He exchanged an uneasy look with Porthos.

They rented the entire top floor of a travelling merchant's house. The only part they shared with him was the door from the street. It entered into a small hallway with a single door leading to the merchant's home and a flight of stairs, leading to the door into Aramis and Porthos' home.

What had made Aramis and Porthos uneasy was that as they had entered from the street, Athos, who was remarkably private and never imposed on people had banged heavily on the merchant's door and listened for movement before proceeding up the stairs. He was now stood stoically in the centre of their living room while the others stood and stared at Athos, waiting for him to say something. After a few minutes Aramis decided to jump in.

“Did you want to sit at the table, Athos, if we have details to go through?”

This seemed to jerk Athos out of whatever he was thinking of.

“No. I think not. I would like us to be more comfortable. Perhaps the hearth,” he said softly, removing his hat and gloves as he spoke.

The others took their cue from him and they shed their weapons, hanging them up on the two hatstands. In deference to Aramis' rug, all four of them removed their boots before taking their usual seats. Athos felt all of them looking expectantly at him.

“Before I speak, I need to warn you all. Nothing I say here leaves these four people. Nothing. Not even the Captain. Anything we need to tell the Captain, I will do so. We speak to nobody. Not even Constance,” he added, turning slightly to make sure d'Artagnan understood.

D'Artagnan opened his mouth to reply but the steel in Athos' gaze made the impulse die on his lips. He, instead, nodded mutely.

“If any of you wish to leave and remain ignorant of this mission, do so now,” Athos said gravely. He was unsurprised when none of them made a move.

“Once I speak of this, you are all bound to this task. Save you, Aramis. For reasons that will become clear, you alone have the choice to decline this assignment. You will, however, remain silent on the matter. Do you understand?” Athos asked, pausing. He regarded Aramis steadily, whose face was carefully blank.

“Out with it, Athos,” said Porthos bluntly.

Athos switched his gaze to Porthos but saw the darker man wasn't looking at him. He only had eyes for the clearly tense Aramis.

“Our assignment is to escort someone of great importance to Paris. The identity and role of this person necessitates our utmost secrecy. They will travel most of the way without us but we must extract them and bring them into Paris without being seen by anyone. They will be travelling a considerable distance before meeting with us. It will be difficult to travel by stealth but we must,” Athos said, briskly.

“Savoy,” Aramis whispered.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos reveals the details of their mission and receives unexpected news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just say... I'm utterly blown away by the support you guys have given this work. I'm very much in love with you all! :D x

The silence in the room was heavy. Aramis could feel everyone staring at him and glanced at Porthos for help drawing focus.

“Don't ask, Athos. Not her,” he grunted, breaking the silence for Aramis.

Athos turned his steady eyes on him.

“I'm not asking, Porthos. You had your chance to leave,” he said calmly.

“I assume we're talking about the Duchess?” d'Artagnan interjected. “What's so wrong about her? I know that it... I understand it won't be pleasant to... go back there but what's wrong with her?”

Athos turned his head slightly to regard the younger man.

“An astute observation, d'Artagnan. It seems it's not the where that bothers you, Porthos but the who. I thought you liked her,” he said.

Athos frowned as Porthos met Aramis' eyes and something passed silently between them. Their ability to have these silent conversations was equally endearing and frustrating.

“Can't tell the lad,” Porthos said.

Athos' frown deepened and he instinctively held a hand up to stop whatever was about to come out of d'Artagnan's open mouth.

“D'Artagnan,” he said slowly. “I understand that you will take it as an insult if I ask you to step outside but I am going to, all the same.”

The look of mutiny on d'Artagnan's face would have been comical if the situation hadn't been so serious.

“I'm to stand in the hall like a naughty child while the adults discuss things my small mind couldn't comprehend?” he asked, standing suddenly.

“Peace, d'Artagnan,” said Aramis, sounding suddenly exhausted.

“You would tell me?” he asked hopefully. Aramis shook his head. “After all I did for you?! You call me your brother and yet when I put my whole future and even my life on the line to protect you, this is the thanks I get?” he shouted.

“D'Artagnan-” Athos began but the angry Gascon cut him off.

“No, Athos! The reason I didn't press it is because I accepted that some things were need to know. I saw how much pain it caused Aramis and assumed he had told **US** all he could. Now I see that actually it is only me he seeks to keep the truth from!”

“Peace,” repeated Aramis quietly.

“Peace?!” d'Artagnan cried. “You asked me to trust you and I did. Now I am to be singled out as the only person in this group you do not trust?”

“There are some things too large to tell more people than necessary. Athos has to understand what he's asking of us. You do not. I make this choice under a certain burden of knowledge. You have already chosen to undertake this assignment. I would have you do so with the same willingness and loyalty to France as you have always completed every mission. We shield you from this because we respect your honour too much to put you in a position of ambiguity,” he said softly.

D'Artagnan frowned at the quiet tone. Seeing he'd stopped shouting, Aramis continued.

“I asked too much of you in concealing Marsac. I placed you in a position of great dishonour, asking you to lie to your friends, your Captain, to harbour a fugitive. As you say, it could have cost your life and, most definitely, your future had he been discovered. I do not wish to lay another such burden on you. I do not wish you for to, once again, make the decision between loyalty and duty on my account,” he explained quietly.

D'Artagnan examined his words carefully and saw the sadness in Aramis' eyes. He nodded slowly, accepting Aramis' sincerity. In silence, he pulled his boots on and stepped out of the apartment, not bothering to collect his sword belt.

“Aramis?” Athos asked as they heard d'Artagnan's footsteps reach the bottom of the stairs.

“I learnt the truth behind Savoy,” Aramis said quietly.

“I had assumed as much. The Captain told me you saved his life,” Athos said, frowning.

Several years before, Aramis had been deployed on a training mission to Savoy and a masked group attacked them while they were sleeping. Only Aramis and one other man survived. Five years later, that man, Marsac, had returned, naming Captain Tréville as a traitor and the Duke of Savoy as the attacker. Athos hadn't believed a word of it but hadn't stopped Aramis investigating. When they'd returned to the garrison after completing another task, it was to find Aramis had shot Marsac to defend the Captain. All Aramis or Tréville had said was that Aramis knew the truth and had done the right thing.

Aramis looked at Porthos and they had another silent exchange.

“Yeah. The truth isn't what you hoped it was,” Porthos said quietly.

Athos realised Aramis was brooding too much to speak and he turned to face Porthos directly.

“Tell me,” he said softly.

“Marsac was right. About everything,” Porthos said bluntly.

Athos froze. He stared at Porthos without blinking for several long seconds. He finally managed to work his lips again.

“I don't believe you,” he said desperately.

Porthos shrugged.

“Cluzat, the guy in the prison? 'e was a Spanish spy, close to the Duke. He suspected the Duchess so the King and the Cardinal worked out a way to get him out of Savoy and protect the King's sister. Tréville leaked the troop's position and the Cardinal spread it about they were going to overthrow the Duke. 'e rode out and killed 'em all. Our side nipped in and scooped up Cluzat. All to save 'er life. All for the woman you're asking 'im to ride over there to babysit,” Porthos explained, his voice shaking with anger.

“I had no idea,” Athos whispered.

Porthos just shrugged in reply. Athos was trying to fit this new information into how he'd always seen the Captain. He was also conscious of keeping d'Artagnan waiting. He steeled himself and lifted his chin.

“It was not for her. You cannot make it personal,” he said firmly.

“You what?” asked Porthos, incredulously.

“Peace, mi vida,” Aramis murmured, still brooding.

“You cannot attach blame for the political decisions made to the person who happened to be at the root of them. It was not done for her personally so we will not hold her personally responsible,” Athos said, nodding to himself.

Porthos rose to his feet in a rush of anger.

“Listen 'ere,” he began.

“Porthos,” said Aramis without looking up, a warning in his tone.

Porthos swallowed hard and clenched his fists. Aramis finally lifted his head and looked directly at Athos while he spoke.

“The Captain was instructed to do so by the King himself. He knew we were going to be attacked but he did not realise to what extent. The Cardinal had implied he was going to make it a rumour light and murky enough that the Duke and some of his men were going to investigate. The Captain's understanding was that upon realising who we were they would return to Chambéry to discover Cluzat gone. He did not know we would be attacked... like that,” Aramis said quietly.

Athos saw the flickers of pain in Aramis' eyes and it tore at him. He remembered his first few weeks with the regiment, shortly after the massacre had occurred. Nobody would go near Aramis. All the men talked about how unwell he looked. Athos cast around in his mind for memories of that time and he remembered the complete lack of spark in his eyes.

“I believe we can let d'Artagnan back in now?” Aramis asked, breaking into Athos' thoughts.

“Yes,” he whispered, deep in thought.

“Porthos,” said Aramis and the larger man turned to the door, opened it and walked back to his chair.

D'Artagnan closed the door behind him and instantly felt a chill in the room. He kicked his boots off and surveyed his friends. Athos' complexion was pale and decidedly grey. He still wore a stunned expression so whatever they'd told him had clearly blind-sided him. Aramis suddenly looked as if he hadn't slept, hours of rest being sucked from him by whatever they had just revealed to Athos. There was a dullness to his eyes that wasn't like him. Taking his seat on the sofa beside the still tense form of Athos he examined Porthos. The larger man had his fists clenched so clearly he was angry about something. He was watching Aramis more intently than he'd ever seen him watch the King. He looked ready to throw himself upon him to protect him from any incoming blows.

“Soooo?” he asked, exasperated. If they were all going to sit around in silence, why invite him back in?

“I will be going,” Athos said, colour flooding back into his cheeks. He had examined Porthos' revelation, added in Aramis' addendum and found it fitted into his world view, albeit uncomfortably.

“As will I,” d'Artagnan said quickly before he could be cast out again.

“Porthos, you will also be coming,” Athos said firmly.

“Not if he doesn't,” Porthos argued.

Athos looked at Aramis to find him rolling his eyes.

“You must go, Porthos. It is your duty. You are the bravest, most loyal man I know. I would not have you shirk your duty because I... because I am too much of a-”

“Finish that sentence the way I think you're going to and I'll beat you black and blue,” Porthos interrupted.

A faint chuckle ran through the room and they all relaxed slightly.

“Porthos,” Athos said, more gently. “It is your duty. You had your opportunity to leave and you didn't. You will be coming with us. This is an order, Porthos.”

“Then I must come too,” Aramis said unexpectedly.

“Aramis,” Porthos said, frowning.

“We're soldiers, Porthos. We follow our orders,” he said firmly.

Aramis lifted his chin and looked around the room, meeting everyone's eyes in turn.

“If you're sure, Aramis. We certainly miss you when you're not around. We leave at sunset tomorrow so think carefully today while we're making plans and you must tell me if you think you need to change your mind,” Athos said, searching his face.

Aramis nodded.

“I will, Athos. We follow our orders,” he repeated.

Athos nodded, satisfied, and stood to retrieve the maps he knew they kept in their bureau.

“Wherever they lead,” added Aramis in a whisper.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Planning for their mission begins and two of our Musketeers become closer than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. After teasing you for days, I finally earn the Explicit rating I gave it.

“The Duke has been told she will be visiting Bourbon-Les-Eaux for a fortnight. He will be meeting her at Troyes in twenty days from now. She has already left and is expected to reach the waters on Friday. We ride out tomorrow at sundown and meet her there in a few days,” Athos said.

It was mid-morning and they'd begun to plan their movements. They were seated around the large table, following Athos' finger.

“We haven't been able to ascertain which guards have accompanied them so we may need to...”

“Abduct her?” asked d'Artagnan, startled. “You expect us to abduct the Duchess of Savoy?”

“Not abduct,” Athos said slowly.

“Just.. spirit her out of the bloody camp without her guards noticing?” Porthos grunted.

“Basically yes,” said Athos, inclining his head.

“Her maids?” asked d'Artagnan.

“Very good,” Athos said approvingly. D'Artagnan flushed at the praise and Porthos smirked to himself. Athos caught the smile and shook himself.

“Indeed. They are our way in,” he said brusquely. “They can be trusted absolutely. She has three with her. Two are French themselves and have been with her since she was a child. The third is newer to her employ but I'm told the Cardinal has made an offer she cannot refuse to guarantee her loyalty. She will act as the decoy while the Duchess is with us.”

“How many guards?” Aramis asked.

Athos and d'Artagnan looked up at him in surprise. It was the first time he'd spoken since confirming he would be joining them. Porthos didn't react to Aramis' unexpected speech and d'Artagnan glanced at him. He frowned slightly, seeing Porthos' hand covering Aramis' on the table.

“Three. It should have only been two but a rider came in the night to confirm a third joined them at Lyon,” Athos answered.

“So it may be up to four by the time we reach them?” Aramis asked. There was a faint trace of nerves creeping into his voice.

“I believe it will still only be the three but erring on the side of caution has never done us harm before,” Athos replied gently. “We are meeting with a scout in Troyes on Thursday, after they pass through, to gather as much detail as possible. The Duchess herself will be able to make contact with this scout. I believe she will provide as much helpful information as she can such as strengths and weaknesses.”

Porthos snorted.

“Something you'd like to share?” asked Athos.

“Nothing appropriate, no,” he replied.

“Then I suggest you restrain yourself,” Athos replied sharply.

D'Artagnan watched as Porthos straightened to reply and Athos did the same. He watched curiously as Aramis, who was still staring at the map on the table moved his hand to squeeze Porthos' lightly.

“Will do,” he answered gruffly.

Athos inclined his head in recognition of Porthos' acceptance and they bowed their heads once more to their plans.

  
  


  
  


  
  


They chose to stay together that night. As had become their custom, Aramis and Porthos retired to the larger bedroom earlier than the others, leaving them on the sofa.

“You seem worried, Athos,” the younger man said after a few moments.

“I am,” he replied, sighing.

“Because of the thing I don't know about?” d'Artagnan asked carefully.

“Yes. I don't think either of them would ever do anything dishonourable but I worry that the emotions they carry around Savoy will boil over and cause some less than polite comments in her direction,” Athos answered honestly.

He had said much the same to the others while planning, reminding them of the Duchess' station in life.

“You still seem tense,” d'Artagnan said, more softly.

He moved along the sofa and pressed against Athos' side, squeezing his knee gently. Athos looked warily up at him. His piercing blue eyes searched the warm brown ones and he relaxed, finding nothing in them that unnerved him.

“I am not accustomed to having command without the Captain's support. Especially not where the stakes are so high,” he answered, his mouth dry causing his voice to sound quavery.

“You have my support,” d'Artagnan whispered, squeezing his knee again.

Athos smiled gratefully and covered d'Artagnan's hand with his own. He was startled when d'Artagnan lifted their hands and kissed the back of Athos'.

“I think you should get some sleep,” d'Artagnan said softly.

Athos took his cue from d'Artagnan and didn't mention the kiss, simply nodded and rising from the sofa. Neither man let go of the other's hand as they doused the fire and moved into the bedroom. When they finally let go, they began to undress for bed. There was something tense and self-conscious in d'Artagnan's movements but Athos felt totally at sea.

He certainly had improper thoughts about d'Artagnan but wasn't at all certain he felt the same. Had he picked up on them and was now uncertain about sharing a bed? Was that why his movements were so jerky? If that was the case, why was he the one who had kissed his hand?

As before, Athos kept his breeches and shirt on but d'Artagnan stripped down to just his small-clothes. While Athos was still getting comfortable against the wall, d'Artagnan doused their candle and slid into bed, slotting himself into Athos' arms, his bare back pressed against the older man's chest.

Athos found his arm trapped beneath d'Artagnan's head and tried to pull it but found the younger man just shifted until Athos' arm was wrapped beneath him, his hand resting against d'Artagnan's bare chest. He was further stunned when d'Artagnan pulled his other arm tightly around his waist, pressing Athos' groin into his backside.

Athos was again counting to ten to stop himself becoming aroused at the closeness when d'Artagnan's voice sounded quietly in the room.

“Athos,” he murmured.

“Yes?” Athos hated how hoarse he sounded.

“This bed only ever smells like you. Never like Porthos,” he said quietly.

Athos froze. He'd warned Aramis. This was the moment.

“Athos?” he murmured again.

“Does it?” Athos replied, inadequately. He was thinking furiously, trying to come up with an answer.

“I'm half naked in bed with you. Do you really think I'm going to be shocked or upset by the truth?” d'Artagnan teased gently.

“You should ask them,” Athos said quietly.

“I won't say anything. They're my brothers and knowing whatever they share does nothing to diminish my love for them. It will change nothing in how I treat them, either,” he said, stroking both of Athos' suddenly tense hands with his fingertips.

“Our faithful puppy,” Athos murmured. “I think we take you for granted.”

“Yours,” whispered d'Artagnan.

“Hmm?” Athos wasn't sure if he'd heard correctly.

“I'm their friend and brother. I'm your puppy,” d'Artagnan said.

Athos recognised the slight hitch in d'Artagnan's voice as he became nervous.

“My puppy?” asked Athos softly.

D'Artagnan nodded fervently and clasped both of Athos' hands, pressing them close against his chest and stomach.

“Your heart is racing,” Athos observed, dipping his head to murmur in d'Artagnan's ear.

D'Artagnan nodded again and Athos felt his entire body tense. He began to stroke the skin of d'Artagnan's soft stomach and nuzzled into the back of his ear.

“Athos,” he gasped softly.

Athos felt a painful hardening in his breeches at the way his name sounded on d'Artagnan's lips like that.

“Rest now. We'll talk in the morning,” he murmured.

“Can't rest,” d'Artagnan protested in a whisper.

“Why not?” Athos asked, slyly, his hand still stroking d'Artagnan's stomach and brushing against the waist of his underwear.

“Want... need... want you,” d'Artagnan gasped.

Athos closed his eyes for a few seconds, the desperation in d'Artagnan's breathless voice making it increasingly hard not to roll him over and have his way.

“Please Sir,” whispered d'Artagnan, pressing his bottom back against Athos' groin.

Athos' eyes flew open at the choice of word and he jerked against d'Artagnan's buttocks. He felt the man shudder in his arms and gave a small gasp of his own.

“You mischievous boy,” he murmured, letting his lips graze over d'Artagnan's ear.

D'Artagnan nodded eagerly and Athos chuckled darkly, eliciting a small whine from the younger man. He extracted his hands from beneath d'Artagnan's and rearranged the younger man's hands. The arm he was laying on, Athos tucked underneath him, his fingers caught meaningfully under his hip and the other up out of the way on his other hip. He let his own hands resume stroking the caramel skin without hindrance.

D'Artagnan's breathing had become ragged and uneven. Athos knew from experience that moving his hands like he had would make him feel exposed. He took his time, exploring the lines of d'Artagnan's ribs, his chest, his collarbones. He lightly tipped his chin up and ran a finger down his throat, smiling as he visibly swallowed.

“My good boy?” Athos asked.

“Yes, Sir,” gasped d'Artagnan. “Please,”

“Please what?”

“Please touch me, Sir,” he whimpered.

Athos lightly grazed his teeth over d'Artagnan's ear and felt him shiver again. He splayed one hand firmly on d'Artagnan's stomach, pressing him against his own body. His other hand was still roaming possessively across the skin on his chest, palming his nipples as he went. He stopped to pinch one gently and felt d'Artagnan's lithe body arch into the touch. He experimented and pinched slightly harder.

“Oh Athos,” he sighed, arching again.

Athos let go and rolled the nipple gently, feeling it harden further under his hand.

“I beg your pardon,” he murmured.

“Sorry, **Sir** ,” d'Artagnan whispered. “Please,” he added, arching his back.

“Good boy,” Athos murmured, his finger and thumb closing gently on the offered nipple.

“Oh, Sir. Please, please,” gasped d'Artagnan, squirming in his arms.

Athos squeezed the nub harshly and smiled as d'Artagnan continued to press himself into his hands, moaning softly. It seemed yet another of the four of them liked a little discomfort with their pleasure.

“You want me to touch you, boy?” murmured Athos, releasing his grip.

“Yes please, Sir,” whined d'Artagnan, arching his body. He pressed his chest into Athos' teasing hand and his buttocks in Athos' groin.

“My adorable puppy,” Athos murmured.

He felt himself grow much bolder, finally knowing d'Artagnan wanted him. The hand on his stomach slowly trailed down and Athos' nimble fingers gently pressed on d'Artagnan's small-clothes until they found the unmistakeable shape of his arousal.

“Is this why you can't rest?” Athos asked, slyly.

“Yes, Sir,” whispered d'Artagnan, arching his hips, seeking Athos' fingers.

“What is it you want?” asked Athos in a whisper, beginning to trail his fingers along his erection.

“Oh Sir,” breathed d'Artagnan. He arched his hips against Athos' trailing fingers.

“This?” Athos asked calmly.

“Yes, yes, please, Sir, please,” begged d'Artagnan, his breath coming in short gasps.

Athos slowly undid the laces on d'Artagnan's small clothes and began to nibble gently on the back of his ear. He squirmed in Athos' arms and the older man chuckled softly.

Ever so gently, Athos removed d'Artagnan's hardness from his breeches and sighed contentedly at the sight. He was neither overly long, nor particularly thick. Athos considered him utterly perfect and his mouth was watering.

He wrapped his fingers around his base and d'Artagnan's entire body jerked in his arms and tensed up.

“Shh, relax. Relax,” he soothed. He held his hand still on d'Artagnan's member and resumed lightly nibbling his clearly sensitive ear. Gradually d'Artagnan's body relaxed back against Athos'.

“Want to stop?” he asked gently.

“No Sir,” d'Artagnan whispered, clearly calmer. “Was just...”

“Overwhelmed?”

D'Artagnan nodded and nuzzled against the arm beneath his head.

“Oh good,” murmured Athos, slowly sliding his hand up d'Artagnan's length, causing him to shudder in his arms.

He set a slow leisurely, pace, wanting to savour this moment, having the beautiful body in his arms, writhing just so.

“Oh Sir... I don't think... I'm going to... I can't...” d'Artagnan whimpered.

“You can,” murmured Athos into his ear. “Just relax and let me take care of you.”

“Oh, oh,” d'Artagnan replied, jerking wildly in Athos' arms.

“Shh, shh... relax,” Athos urged.

D'Artagnan took several deep, shuddering breaths and forced himself to calm down. He didn't succeed entirely but at least managed to settle enough to enjoy Athos' ministrations.

Athos resumed nibbling on d'Artagnan's ear as he felt him ease slightly. As someone who struggled with intimacy, he understood why he would be so tense. He continued his leisurely pace and felt d'Artagnan sighing in his arms.

“Oh Sir,” d'Artagnan moaned, shuddering again.

Athos inhaled deeply, his face against the back of d'Artagnan's head. He let his hand speed up, experimenting with different grips and motions until he had d'Artagnan wound back up to panting and writhing in his arms.

He listened to the tiny gasps and whispers coming from him and resumed nuzzling his ear, catching the lobe gently in his teeth.

“Sir, oh, oh, Athos,” gasped d'Artagnan.

Athos didn't reply and this time, feeling d'Artagnan's entire body tense up, didn't let go either. He used his free hand to press his chest back, holding him still, grounding him.

D'Artagnan's entire body shuddered in Athos' grasp. He pressed his head back against Athos' shoulder and his mouth fell open in a silent cry as he began to spend in Athos' hand.

Athos continued to stroke him as his entire body rippled, the hand on his chest holding him firmly. He watched as d'Artagnan's head fell forwards, the tremors beginning to subside.

“Breathe,” Athos whispered.

The younger man took a deep shuddering breath and went positively limp in his arms. Athos smiled and pressed a lingering kiss into dark hair on the back of d'Artagnan's head.

“That's it, shh. I've got you, shh,” Athos murmured.

He surreptitiously used a loose edge of the sheet to clean his hand and he gently tucked d'Artagnan into his small-clothes. He gave up on trying to lace the garment since he didn't want to move his hands from the younger man's chest while he was still limp in his arms, his breath shallow.

Athos reached for the blanket and, pulling it over them both, he wrapped his arms around the slender body and sighed contentedly, feeling d'Artagnan echo the soft sound.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis and Porthos lean on each other in preparation for their mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've actually written on well past this but Snow_Glory and Jasperslittlesister convinced me to write this little moment in :)

“You should get some sleep, my love,” murmured Aramis.

“Pot. Kettle,” Porthos said quietly.

They'd been laying together in silence for at least an hour since going to bed. They were face to face, their arms resting lightly across each other's waists.

“I don't think I can,” Aramis said bitterly.

Porthos stroked the dark waves out of Aramis' face and looked seriously at him.

“Can I help?” Porthos asked, uncertainly.

“Just be you,” Aramis murmured.

“Well I meant...” Porthos trailed off.

“I know, mi vida. I know. I don't think it would help,” he replied, smiling weakly. “That's a departure from reality. It's light hearted fun. You...” he frowned slightly and Porthos waited for him to marshal his thoughts.

“I remember those dark days, Porthos. Those first few days when I was terrified of my own shadow. I couldn't draw my sword, I couldn't fire my pistol. I remember almost weeping to have you out of reach,” Aramis said quietly.

Porthos felt a lump growing in his throat. He remembered those days, too. There was a moment when Aramis first woke up in his own bed after being returned to Paris that he'd realised what had happened. His whole face had gone slack and Porthos would remember the dead look in those normally sparkling black eyes until the day he died.

“I... I'm afraid Porthos,” Aramis said, dropping his eyes.

Porthos kissed him sweetly. He lingered over Aramis' mouth, suckling gently at his bottom lip, drawing the slightest of sighs from his lover.

“You aren't afraid of a fight, Sire. What is it?” he asked quietly.

“I fear becoming the man who inhabited those dark days, my darling. If not for you, I would have lost myself entirely to the darkness. I grew angry and nearly lost myself again when Marsac returned. I am afraid that this will send me that way again,” Aramis answered.

“Never,” Porthos said, his voice fierce. Aramis blinked in surprise. “You came through it, love. You are too strong and too determined to lose yourself again.”

Aramis kissed him, smiling against his lips.

“You promise?”

"I know you too well, Aramis. You're stronger than you think. You think I'd kneel for someone so easily defeated by demons in his past?" Porthos asked.

"You don't doubt me when I panic any more?" Aramis asked, smiling softly.

“I learned that lesson years ago. I will follow you anywhere, Sire. I will be by your side and at your feet for the rest of my days. You've got me,” Porthos said quietly.

“Then I can face anything,” Aramis said, kissing him again. He pulled back slightly and searched Porthos' handsome face. “Will you be OK?”

“I... I can't say I'll be at all happy about it. I... I'd like to stay close to you,” Porthos admitted. He chewed gently on his bottom lip, a habit Aramis found utterly adorable. “I reckon, though, we'll be fine. We're not kids. We'll be fine. We've done harder things than this.”

“You're right, my love. We perceive this as more dangerous because of events that occurred five years ago at the behest of a man who is not even going to be present until we are clear,” Aramis said shaking himself.

“Sure?” Porthos asked, kissing his lover again.

“Absolutely,” Aramis said, breathing the word against Porthos' lips. “Perhaps, though... you need convincing?”

Porthos chuckled darkly.

“With the lad next door?”

“You'll have to be quiet,” Aramis whispered.

Porthos grinned and rolled Aramis onto his back. He dipped his head to kiss Aramis' neck, suckling gently where it met the corner of his jaw, a spot that always drove him wild.

“So will you Sire,” Porthos murmured.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos and d'Artagnan react to their night together

Athos woke slowly. The room was still pitch black and he could feel it was still night. He had a slight pain in his elbow but found himself smiling at the reason why.

D'Artagnan was still sleeping solidly but he'd rolled slightly forwards, away from Athos. The arm that was angled down to d'Artagnan's chest was trapped beneath him where he'd turned. Athos could feel d'Artagnan clutching it tightly in both of his hands, twisting his elbow up.

Athos tried to turn his arm but found d'Artagnan just held his hand tighter. He smiled affectionately and rolled to press himself against d'Artagnan's bare back.

“D'Artagnan,” he murmured softly.

As the younger man shifted slightly, Athos lifted his free arm to brush the hair out of d'Artagnan's eyes. The confusion and uncertainty in his eyes was adorable and it made Athos want to kiss him.

“A-Athos?” he whispered, clearly disoriented.

“It's me,” Athos confirmed, suddenly wary.

He'd woken up with a blanket of calm, feeling d'Artagnan there. Athos hadn't felt an ounce of uncertainty when he recognised the slim body in his arms. He knew it was him and felt totally calm. Clearly d'Artagnan wasn't feeling that. He withdrew his hand slowly, not wanting to startle him but also not wanting to force intimacy on him.

“Oh,” murmured d'Artagnan sleepily, closing his eyes again. “Hi.”

Athos breathed a sigh of relief as the young features were transformed into a lazy smile.

“Time to get up?” he asked, beginning to stir.

“No, no. I just need to rearrange my arm,” Athos replied quietly.

“Ohh. Sorry,” d'Artagnan replied softly, smiling sheepishly. He relinquished his hold on Athos' hand.

Athos gently flexed his elbow, twisting it to ease the sharp pain that had built up. While he was doing so, d'Artagnan started to drift off to sleep again but turned over to face Athos to get comfortable. Athos smiled to himself, feeling the dark hair beneath his chin as d'Artagnan nuzzled into his chest.

  
  


  
  


Athos wasn't immediately certain what woke him the next time but he woke suddenly. He examined his situation for a few moments before realising d'Artagnan's entire body was thrumming with tension. He was still curled in Athos' arms, his head against his chest but his whole body was rigid.

“D'Artagnan?” Athos asked, softly. His hand began to stroke the smooth skin on his back. He estimated only a short time had passed since they'd moved. No more than two hours.

“Good morning,” d'Artagnan said formally, without moving.

“Would you like me to let go of you?” Athos asked, making absolutely no move to do so.

“I- Uh... Well- Um... No,” he said, finishing in a whisper.

Athos continued to smooth his hand over d'Artagnan's shoulders gently.

“Relax,” he said softly.

“I'm fine,” he muttered.

“You aren't,” Athos said quietly. “You're tense. Am I to think you're slightly unsettled by waking up in my arms?”

“No,” he said quickly. “It's not that,” he added quietly, nuzzling him slightly.

“Ahh,” the Musketeer murmured. “You are feeling muddled by our intimacy?”

He felt d'Artagnan nod against his chest, pressing his face against him.

“Shh, shh,” Athos soothed. “I've got you. Why would you consider the man you lay with as someone to hide it from?” he asked gently.

“I... I don't know,” came the whispered reply.

“Shh. It's OK,” Athos said quietly, stroking d'Artagnan's hair.

Whether at the touch of his hand or the comfort of his words, something in the slim body relaxed and slowly he sagged against Athos.

“I apologise,” d'Artagnan murmured after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

“No need,” Athos replied quietly. “New things will always need some adjusting to.”

“This is a new thing,” d'Artagnan said softly. “Will I get used to it?”

“Why wouldn't you?” Athos asked continuing to stroke his back.

“Oh. I meant... I...” he trailed off uncertainly.

Athos gently stroked d'Artagnan's hair back from his forehead, tilting his head back very slightly to look at him. There was a flush of embarrassment in his cheeks.

“What is it?” Athos asked calmly.

“I wasn't sure if... I don't know if... you intend for me to have the opportunity to grow accustomed to... being with you?” he asked. He couldn't meet Athos' eyes and instead stared fixedly at his throat.

“Ahh. I was certainly hoping you would be amenable to the idea, yes,” Athos answered honestly. “I do understand, however, you may not wish to. That's absolutely fine, too.”

“Oh... I... Well...” d'Artagnan stammered.

“Shh. Shh, it's OK. There's no reason to talk about it now. Just relax and sleep. We can see how things look later. Just rest now,” he murmured quietly.

D'Artagnan nuzzled into Athos' chest and the older man felt him sigh deeply. He extracted his arm and wrapped it around Athos' waist, pulling himself closer and sighing again. Athos gave a small contented sigh of his own and pressed his nose into d'Artagnan's hair, inhaling deeply. Gradually, they both fell back to sleep.

  
  


  
  


  
  


D'Artagnan was first to wake again, this time recognising the pre-dawn light filtering through the shutters. He felt a smile already present on his lips and sighed softly. Despite the fact that was clearly still asleep, Athos' arms were tight around him.

He sighed contentedly, luxuriating in the sensation of enclosure. There was a safety in Athos' arms he'd never felt. Not since he was a child. Athos made him feel indomitable and yet small all at once. There was a sense of invincibility his protection gave him and yet when those piercing blue eyes turned on him, he felt like a child being scolded.

His mind cast back to the moment the Captain had shouted at them when Marsac had escaped. He'd felt bad, yes. He hadn't felt truly in the wrong until Athos had asked what he was hiding. He was powerless to keep things from him. The times he was lectured by Athos cut him to the quick and made him utterly desperate to make it up to him.

He hadn't felt this blend of safety and obligation since his Father had died. He felt the familiar stab of pain as he thought of him. Was he ever going to stop feeling this deep ache when he thought of him? It certainly eased the pain to have Athos looking out for him. Was that fair on Athos? Was he just using him?

“You think very loudly,” came a sleepy voice.

“I didn't know you were awake,” d'Artagnan whispered.

“Only for a minute,” Athos replied softly.. He yawned and stretched his arms, releasing d'Artagnan for a moment. He wrapped them back around the slim man and murmured happily to himself.

D'Artagnan didn't move an inch until Athos' arms were back around him. He then shifted slightly, nuzzling his head against Athos' chest.

“Do you wish to talk about what you were thinking of?” he asked, calmly.

“May I decline?” d'Artagnan asked softly.

“Of course. I won't push. I will willingly listen to your thoughts, either without comment or proffer advice. It is, however, your decision whether to share them. I ask only that you consider how talking about them can help,” Athos said, his hand stroking along d'Artagnan's bare back again.

“Physician heal thyself,” d'Artagnan said quietly, grinning against Athos' chest.

“Perhaps,” Athos replied, the smile evident in his voice.

“I... I don't think I am ready to discuss last night,” d'Artagnan said, nerves making his voice shake.

“I understand,” Athos said, softly. “Would you like me to let go of you?”

“I would not, no.”

“Then be content to stay in my arms for a while longer,” he said quietly.

“I would like to ask one thing, though,” d'Artagnan whispered.

“Ask anything.”

“You... Am I...” he trailed off.

Athos didn't reply, just kept stroking d'Artagnan's back gently. He knew more than most how difficult it could be to marshal one's emotions into words. He felt d'Artagnan sigh in frustration.

“Peace. Peace,” soothed Athos.

He felt d'Artagnan relax slightly but the tension didn't leave his body entirely and it was another few minutes before he finally spoke again.

“Why do you stroke me so?” he asked. Athos stilled his hand self-consciously. “I didn't mean for you to stop. I find comfort in the action. I was just wondering why you do it.”

“One naturally strokes one's puppy, no?” Athos asked in confusion, resuming the movement on his back.

D'Artagnan inhaled sharply and nuzzled Athos' chest.

“Ahh,” murmured Athos. “You wondered if I still considered you that way or if it had been informed by whatever else we were feeling at the time?”

D'Artagnan nodded against his chest. Athos tightened his arms around him and pressed his face into the dark hair beneath his chin.

"Still my puppy," Athos whispered.

They rested for several more minutes before Athos broke the comfortable silence.

“Do you intend to speak to our brothers about what you suspect between them?”

D'Artagnan nodded and leaned back slightly. Athos loosened his grip to allow them room to see each other.

“I... Do you think I should?”

“Yes. I think it is slightly impolite of you to hold suspicions of them without discussing it. I will say what I said to Aramis, though. Consider what you will do if you learn the worst. You suspect them of a capital crime, d'Artagnan. Are you prepared to deal with that knowledge? Either to act upon or, indeed, carry it with you for the rest of your days.”

D'Artagnan thought carefully and Athos couldn't help finding the small crease in his brow adorable.

“What's the alternative?” he asked slowly.

“You choose not to discuss it with them and therefore rid yourself of the notion,” Athos replied.

“Choose to live in ignorance?”

“Not quite. Choose to be able to deny. You are aware that knowing of a crime and choosing not to act upon it makes you culpable. Similarly, having no knowledge of a crime means you become immune from judgement.”

“Surely nobody would believe I didn't know of my brother's crimes. Whatever they might be,” d'Artagnan asked, frowning again.

“Perhaps not. However, even under the most intense questioning, you would only be able to say the truth. Admit your suspicions but be able to call them just that, suspicions,” Athos answered.

“Is that honourable?”

“It's honest, d'Artagnan. When one is considering forfeiting their own life for curiosity's sake, honesty trumps honour,” Athos said, firmly.

“And you?”

“I know the truth but it is not my truth to tell,” Athos said.

“Why did you not choose to be able to deny?”

Athos frowned slightly and swallowed hard.

“I came to them not long after... my wife,” he began.

He closed his eyes briefly and forced himself to continue. Opening them he saw the warm eyes of d'Artagnan watching him patiently.

“I was detached, withdrawn. Believe it or not I was much more reserved then,” he murmured. A ghost of a smile passed across his face and d'Artagnan grinned.

“They befriended me immediately. Almost aggressively, even,” Athos continued. His eyes glazed over as he remembered the occasions he kept finding the pair of them at his door or at his side, beaming at him like idiots.

“They mended you?” asked d'Artagnan softly.

“They did. They are, as you know, an incredibly warm pair. They're welcoming, devoted, fiercely loyal and, though I will never admit it, amusing. I was cold, both to people and to them. They warmed me,” Athos said simply.

“So how did you-”

Athos cut the question off with a gentle tug to d'Artagnan's hair.

“It is not my truth to tell,” he repeated softly. “You need to make this decision, pup. I have aided you as much as I can.”

D'Artagnan nodded in understanding but Athos watched with interest as he nodded somewhat harder than he needed to. He experimented and tugged his hair again. A blush came to d'Artagnan's cheeks immediately and Athos let go.

“Dawn is breaking,” Athos mused.

“We need to get up?”

“Soon,” Athos replied, tightening his arms and pulling d'Artagnan against his chest again.

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Musketeers clear the air.

Athos and d'Artagnan were already up when Aramis appeared from the bedroom. Athos was sat at the table, frowning at the maps, already working, and d'Artagnan was moving around in the kitchen.

“Good morning,” he said pleasantly. He raised a hand to d'Artagnan in greeting and moved to stand beside Athos, who looked up at his approach.

“You are certain, Aramis? Absolutely certain you wish to come?”

“I am, friend. You were right. I cannot blame her for the decisions made to protect her,” Aramis replied, sitting down at the table.

Athos searched his face carefully and Aramis let him do so, understanding why he was doing it.

“You seek to protect Porthos also?”

“I cannot help recalling the last time the Musketeers were sent out of Paris on a secret mission on her behalf and I will not permit Porthos to face that without me,” Aramis said, dropping his voice so d'Artagnan did not hear.

Athos nodded. He glanced at the bedroom door, hearing Porthos move around.

“I will not allow him to be discourteous towards her,” Athos said, the warning clear.

“Then nor will I,” Aramis murmured as d'Artagnan approached.

Together, the three of them cleared away the maps enough to make space for breakfast. Porthos emerged, stretching his arms above his head. His face lit up at the sight of breakfast already waiting for him on the table and he sat down to join them.

They ate in silence, which was unusual. Aramis frowned at Athos and d'Artagnan. He'd been watching them surreptitiously and Athos had barely taken his eyes off the Gascon. D'Artagnan, however, kept shooting furtive glances at Porthos and, Aramis assumed, himself.

“D'Artagnan,” he said finally. “We told you our reasons for not sharing information with you.”

“That's not it,” he blurted.

Athos stood abruptly. He squeezed d'Artagnan's shoulder and began collecting plates. Aramis and Porthos exchanged a puzzled look when Athos and d'Artagnan retreated to the kitchen.

“Do we follow?” Porthos asked in a whisper. Aramis shrugged at him. He leaned back in his chair to catch sight of the pair, hunched together whispering urgently.

When they emerged, d'Artagnan had a clench to his jaw that Aramis always associated with his temper. It was Athos, however, that spoke.

“Gentlemen. D'Artagnan would like to ask you some questions. Might we move to the hearth?”

Porthos' face grew closed and tight and he looked at Aramis for guidance. Aramis nodded and moved slowly to his normal armchair, Porthos following and taking his as well.

D'Artagnan settled tensely on the edge of the sofa. While he did sit much closer to d'Artagnan than normal, Athos chose to lounge against the high back.

“How can we help?” Aramis asked, warily.

D'Artagnan stared dumbly at them, unsure how to begin. Athos gently pressed his fingers against the small of d'Artagnan's back.

“I made an observation last night that Athos told me I should ask you to explain,” he said finally.

Aramis flicked his eyes to Athos and back to the younger man.

“Yes?”

“The bed... Porthos' bed... It... It never smells like Porthos. I have only ever noticed Athos' scent on it,” he said carefully.

“Sure you wanna go down this road, lad?” Porthos asked warningly.

Aramis held a hand up to Porthos, quieting him, and looked around d'Artagnan to Athos.

“Have you discussed what asking this means?”

Athos nodded.

“What are you asking us, d'Artagnan?” Aramis asked, satisfied.

“Porthos doesn't have his own bedroom. You share one, don't you?”

“Yes,” Aramis replied, meeting d'Artagnan's eyes steadily, aware of Porthos' growing tension to the side.

“You... you lay together?”

“Yes.”

There was a tense silence. Aramis studied the Gascon's face carefully.

“D'Artagnan,” he said softly. “I need to know what you intend to do with this information. If you intend to share it with anyone.”

“Oh! Goodness! Aramis!” he gasped, beginning to stand up. Athos reached for the waistband of his breeches and tugged him back down.

“We gotta ask,” Porthos grunted. His fists were clenched on his thighs.

“Peace, brothers,” came Athos' soft voice. “D'Artagnan. Ask them plainly. Ask them what you want to know.”

“Are you... lovers?” he asked.

“Yes,” Aramis replied.

“D'Artagnan,” Athos said, pointedly.

“Do you love each other?” he asked, not meeting Aramis' eyes.

“More than life,” Aramis answered simply.

D'Artagnan lifted his eyes to meet Aramis' and could find no lie. He turned to Porthos who was almost vibrating with tension.

“Porthos?” d'Artagnan asked.

“What do you want to know?” Aramis asked.

D'Artagnan frowned in confusion and turned back to Athos.

“Aramis can answer for him. You know Porthos takes his time before answering,” Athos said.

“Does he love you?” d'Artagnan asked, slightly confused.

“Yes,” Aramis answered confidently.

“More than life,” Porthos ground out through his clenched jaw.

“You...” d'Artagnan trailed off and frowned.

“We live together as a couple, yes. We are very much in love and have been for several years. We are physical lovers as well. It does not affect our working lives, with the possible exception of making us more protective of one another,” Aramis said, taking pity on him.

Athos nodded approvingly at Aramis and, unseen by anyone, stroked d'Artagnan's tail bone gently.

“The Captain knows and Athos knows. Neither one feels it negatively impacts us completing our duty. I ask that if you choose to reveal this information to anyone, you tell us first so that we might... make certain arrangements,” Aramis continued.

“I don't intend to,” d'Artagnan said quietly. “I consider you my brothers, no matter who you love.”

“Even though you know this is a physical relationship?” Aramis pressed.

“I understand,” d'Artagnan replied.

Aramis frowned. There still a lot of tension and confusion on his young face.

“Does this bother you?” Aramis asked.

“I... The physical aspect?”

“Any of it, d'Artagnan. You are important to us and we would know how you feel about us. We'd also like to know how you would like to proceed. We're more than willing to make efforts to be more discrete but knowing what you know now about our living arrangements, that may prove difficult,” Aramis murmured.

D'Artagnan was clearly struggling with something and Aramis looked round him at Athos for help. Their friend sat upright and touched d'Artagnan's shoulder.

“It's OK. You can talk to them. Just speak your thoughts and let them form,” he murmured. Making sure his hand remained unseen by the others, Athos stroked d'Artagnan's back.

“I.. fail to believe that God is much interested in what we do in our bedrooms. I am not... naïve. I do understand we, as men, have needs,” d'Artagnan said slowly.

“But something is troubling you?” Aramis asked.

“I find it harder to reconcile the idea that He pays no mind to who we love,” d'Artagnan added, an apologetic note to his voice.

 

“Perhaps I should explain how I found out,” Athos suggested.

D'Artagnan turned on the sofa and faced Athos attentively.

“Porthos had been injured, grievously so. I watched Aramis tend to his wound and calm him in a way I'd never seen anyone do before. I asked him, he told me,” Athos said softly.

D'Artagnan stared at him and Aramis removed himself to the kitchen to get a drink and clear his thoughts. When he came back, Athos was speaking again.

“They made me the same offer they have you. To allow me to continue in ignorance. There was a moment, however, when I caught a glimpse of what it would it would do to Aramis to be separated from him. I genuinely believe they are two halves of the whole,” Athos continued in his quiet voice.

D'Artagnan turned to see Aramis and Porthos exchanging glances.

“They do that a lot. They don't always feel the need to speak,” Athos explained, smirking slightly.

“I will never speak of you to anyone outside this room, gentlemen. I might need some time to get used to it, though,” d'Artagnan said, dropping his eyes to the floor.

“Then we will return to being discrete, dear d'Artagnan,” Aramis said, smiling.

“Well... This is your home. I believe we will be here until we depart tonight at sundown. I would not have you putting on an act in your own home. If I become uncomfortable or overwhelmed, I can take a walk,” he replied. Aramis smiled gratefully. “Besides... I now know I can seek refuge in **Athos'** bedroom,” he added.

A low chuckle ran through them all and the tension ratcheted down a few notches.

“So, Athos. As d'Artagnan says, we're leaving at sundown?” Aramis asked.

“Indeed. Since we have all risen early I thought it would be prudent to spend the morning gathering provisions and try and get some sleep this afternoon. Shall we eat here before we leave or at the yard while we gather the horses?”

“I'll cook,” d'Artagnan said quickly. Athos nodded his approval.

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The four men prepare for departure

“You don't look like you slept much, friend,” Aramis said quietly.

Athos turned to look at him under the brim of his hat. The four of them had split up. Porthos and d'Artagnan were collecting food for the journey and their meal before they left. Aramis and Athos had gone to collect clothes suitable for hiding the duchess.

“I could say the same to you,” he replied.

“I think my disturbed sleep is easily explained. Yours, not so much. Did you not sleep well in the arms of our young Gascon?” he teased.

Athos glared at him from below his hat and glanced pointedly around the busy market.

“Oh my,” Aramis murmured.

  
  


  
  


  
  


“Thanks, lad,” Porthos said abruptly.

They'd been walking in a comfortable silence for several minutes so d'Artagnan was caught off guard.

“For what?” he asked.

“I know you're struggling with what you learned today but thanks for... for...” Porthos trailed off, trying to put it into words.

“I'm a guest in your home, Porthos. Your home,” d'Artagnan said gently. “Besides, the part I am struggling with is the part I will have the opportunity to become accustomed to.”

“Yeah. 'bout that. What is it?”

d'Artagnan looked around the deserted street and sighed.

“I... the physical aspect makes sense to me. It might be shocking but I understand it. The other...” d'Artagnan trailed off as they reached the market place.

 

 

Walking back along the same deserted alley, their arms laden with packages, d'Artagnan began speaking again, his voice quiet.

“I am not so naïve as to think love is always required for the physical act so I can make my peace with that. However, I am confused by the notion of loving a man. I apologise for my words here, dear Porthos, but it seems so unnatural.”

Porthos shrugged, unconcerned.

“I thought the same. I had little issue with my desire for him but the idea of building a relationship with him and living like that took some getting used to,” he answered.

D'Artagnan stopped in the deserted alley and glanced around to check they were still alone. Porthos frowned and walked back a few steps to stand beside him.

“It was the relationship that vexed you?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“Not that... you love him?” d'Artagnan asked in a whisper.

“Oh God no!” Porthos answered, laughing. He bumped d'Artagnan with his shoulder and they resumed walking. “Some things you just can't deny.”

D'Artagnan frowned and they continued on in silence.

  
  


  
  


  
  


“So what's bothering you?” Aramis asked.

He was sat at the table sorting through his supplies for their trip, making sure he had enough dressings and thread. He also had several herbs that d'Artagnan used to make a poultice.

Aramis lifted his eyes to Athos who was stood staring out the window above the bureau. Porthos and d'Artagnan had stopped back in, dropped off their supplies and had gone back out to collect the clothes d'Artagnan would need for the trip.

“I lay with d'Artagnan last night,” Athos said without turning round.

After several long seconds of silence, he finally turned to see Aramis staring at him, his hands frozen in mid-air. He raised an eyebrow at him and Aramis had the good grace to look embarrassed.

“I apologise, Athos. I'm taken off guard by my reserved friend sharing the salacious details of his bedroom antics,” he said, recovering quickly and winking.

Athos gave him a withering look and turned back to the window.

“I have feelings for him, Aramis. It was a strange mixture of comfort, desire and... emotion,” Athos murmured.

“But that's good, surely?” Aramis asked, resuming his sorting.

“You heard him this morning,” Athos said, sounding exhausted. “He doesn't believe in love between two men.”

“That's not what he said,” Aramis replied. “He said he found that harder to accept.”

“I shouldn't be upset by it. If he wishes to seek physical comfort and satisfaction from me without returning whatever emotional wishes I might have, that is my burden to bear, is it not?” Athos asked, turning from the window to look at Aramis.

“If you thought that was true, you wouldn't be asking,” Aramis replied, beginning to pack up.

Athos sat down heavily in the chair opposite him.

“You do it for me,” he said, frowning.

“We get great enjoyment from it but it causes us no harm. I think if you continued a physical relationship with d'Artagnan you would enjoy it but I fear if whatever love you have for the boy remained unrequited, it would cause you harm,” Aramis said quietly.

“I use you for sex,” Athos said bluntly. “What's the difference?”

“We don't carry romantic feelings for you. You know this, Athos. We've had this talk many times. The fact that we do not love each other in that way allows it to be just sex. If one of you bears love for the other, it is no longer just sex,” Aramis explained.

Athos smiled at him.

“What?”

“It always touches me when you speak of yourself and Porthos as one person. It's so often how I see you,” Athos answered.

Aramis grinned and stood, carrying the extra supplies to the bureau.

“You won't... overwhelm him, will you?” Athos asked. Aramis raised an eyebrow and Athos explained. “I know he has said he doesn't wish for you to need to act in your own home but I wouldn't like to think you'll make things uncomfortable for him.”

“We won't. You know we aren't all over each other,” he replied. A sudden frown came to his face and Athos waited patiently.

“Two things occur to me, Athos. The first, does he know of our liaisons with you?”

“No, he does not. I don't intend to be intimate again, should he even want that, until I have told him. I admit I am waiting to see the fallout from having your physical relationship confirmed. When he brought it up, it was with no sense of judgement so I truly believe he will be fine with it but, as I say, I am waiting to see how he reacts before explaining the extent.”

Aramis nodded thoughtfully.

“The second, Aramis?”

“What of... the nature of our relationship? How do you think we should handle that? Keep that hidden or...” Aramis stopped, mid-sentence seeing a smirk crossing Athos' features. “Something I don't know?”

“Well perhaps don't share intimate details of your particular tastes but I don't think there's any harm in being yourselves. In small ways, perhaps,” Athos answered, smirking still.

They both looked at the doorway, hearing footsteps on the stairs.

“There's something you're not telling me,” Aramis teased, picking up the remaining bags.

  
  


  
  


  
  


“Bedtime,” announced Athos.

“But Papaaaaa!” replied Aramis and Porthos in unison.

Athos smiled warmly at the pair. They'd finished packing what they'd need for the trip, d'Artagnan and Athos having both collected what they'd need from their own abodes. Athos estimated about three hours before they'd need to rise and still have enough time to eat.

They'd spent the morning going over the last of the plans, finding routes across country that would be both well hidden and easy to ride on for the Duchess. It would take them three days to reach Troyes where they were meeting the scout. Another day to the lake, weaving between the guards. They then had a maximum of three days to make the journey each way but were hoping to do it in two. It had been agreed the Duchess would need no more than a day in Paris, giving them a full week to keep hold of her. For Aramis and Porthos' sake, Athos was hoping the journey would only be two days each way but staying off the beaten track usually meant harder riding and no palace upbringing teaches how to ride like a Musketeer.

D'Artagnan chuckled at the three of them and stood, stretching.

“I, for one, will be taking the opportunity to nap,” he said, relaxing his arms.

Aramis sighed dramatically and stood, holding his hand out to Porthos.

“Come on, mi vida. D'Artagnan is making us look bad in front of Father. We must go to bed like good boys or Athos will become most upset,” he teased.

Porthos chuckled and stood.

“What does that mean? Mi vida?” d'Artagnan asked.

Athos watched d'Artagnan's face closely as the two of them shared a tender look.

“It means 'my life',” Aramis answered, his eyes fixed on Porthos, who smiled.

D'Artagnan frowned and shifted uncomfortably. Athos came closer and gently touched his arm.

“I don't understand,” d'Artagnan said slowly.

“He's not just my love, he's my life,” Aramis said, simply. “Now, if you will excuse us, we're going to try and get some sleep before Father takes us to task about it.”

Chuckling, the two of them departed to their own bedroom. Athos peered at d'Artagnan.

“You seem more comfortable,” he said softly.

“I am. They don't seem any different,” d'Artagnan replied. “It... I...”

“Calm,” Athos murmured, laying his hand on d'Artagnan's arm again.

D'Artagnan took a deep breath and nodded. His face was still twisted into a frown. Athos tugged his arm gently.

“Bedtime for us?” d'Artagnan asked.

“If you would still like to share a bed,” Athos asked carefully.

D'Artagnan nodded and his eyes slid to the floor nervously. Athos tugged his arm slightly harder and led him slowly to the smaller bedroom. As he deposited his doublet on the floor, Athos noticed d'Artagnan looking uncomfortable again.

“I can rest on the sofa,” he said quietly.

“No!” d'Artagnan said quickly. “Sorry. I was just...”

Athos waited patiently but d'Artagnan just seemed to be growing more upset. He stepped closer and undid d'Artagnan's jacket slowly. He gently shushed the younger man when he started to protest and raise his hands. D'Artagnan dropped them obligingly and watched carefully.

Athos gently drew d'Artagnan's shirt off and gestured to the bed.

“I can't... You don't want...” d'Artagnan began and trailed off again.

“Sit,” Athos said gently.

He followed d'Artagnan down and sat beside him. He hesitated and draped his arm over the Gascon's bare shoulders. Athos sighed inwardly as the slim man leaned against him.

“Try again,” he said softly.

“You always sleep fully dressed. Is it... You don't like to be close to me?” d'Artagnan asked nervously.

Athos smiled. Proximity seemed to make it easier for him to talk so he tightened his arm.

“I have been trying to avoid impropriety,” Athos murmured.

He felt d'Artagnan chuckle against his side.

“And now?”

“Perhaps a little closeness will help us sleep,” he replied, good-naturedly.

D'Artagnan watched shyly as Athos stood and stripped his doublet and shirt off. He felt his cheeks beginning to grow warm as Athos sat beside him again to remove his boots. He leaned forwards to remove his own and bit his lip as Athos stood to remove his breeches.

When d'Artagnan did the same, Athos silently moved into bed, against the wall. D'Artagnan slipped into bed beside him and after a little bit of adjusting, they settled down together as before.

“I'm not particularly sleepy,” d'Artagnan said.

Athos didn't answer and just pulled d'Artagnan's bare back tight against his own chest. He idly began stroking the man's hair.

“Why do I find it easier to think when I'm with you?” d'Artagnan asked.

Athos again didn't reply and just dropped his hand to stroke d'Artagnan's chest.

“You're not talking to me?”

“Letting you think,” Athos murmured.

“You want me to work through my issues with Aramis and Porthos?”

“If they're what's bothering you. I can feel your tension,” Athos replied, calmly.

“They're not,” he said in a small voice.

Athos resumed his silent stroking of d'Artagnan's chest but stopped when the younger man moved in his arms to lie on his back. He clasped one of Athos' hands in his two and held it tightly on his chest.

“I think it's **my** feelings I'm upset by,” he admitted, looking down at their hands instead of at Athos.

“Would you like to talk about it?” Athos asked.

“I don't know how I feel,” d'Artagnan whispered. “I'm really attracted to you, as you might have guessed. I don't want you to think that's all it is, though.”

“It isn't for me, either,” Athos said quietly.

“I know we spoke about it a while ago that I hold you in higher regard than anyone else. I feel like... like you're... something inside me craves your approval and guidance,” d'Artagnan said, his cheeks flaming into life.

“I need to tell you something before this conversation goes further, pu...” Athos trailed off, biting his lip.

“I like it when you call me that,” d'Artagnan murmured.

“Then listen up, puppy,” Athos said, smiling softly. “You say you have no real issue with separating the physical act of sex from the emotions of love. You say you accept relations between men without sex, correct?”

“Yes Sir,” answered d'Artagnan unselfconsciously, meeting his eyes.

“Then before we go any further, you should know I have not had an emotional relationship with anyone since my wife. The only people I particularly care for are the Musketeers, those two especially. You know I carry no romantic feeling for them?”

D'Artagnan nodded and stroked the back of Athos' hand with his thumbs.

“We are, on occasion, intimate,” Athos said bluntly, searching d'Artagnan's face for reaction.

He frowned deeply before nodding slowly.

“It's... separate?” he asked in a small voice.

“Yes. It's purely physical. Stress relief, as it were,” Athos said quietly.

“And me?”

“You are not. For you, I feel something. I do not yet know what. It's certainly something nurturing and affectionate,” he said boldly.

D'Artagnan blushed again and couldn't meet Athos' eyes. Instead he turned his gaze to the ceiling.

“I feel safest and most content when I'm in your arms. You feel more important to me than anyone else and I feel... I... Hmm,” he muttered.

“Take your time,” Athos soothed.

D'Artagnan nodded gratefully and took a deep breath.

“I feel at peace when... when I answer to you. I know you admonish me more than the others and it gives me a sense of comfort and...”

Athos waited quietly, watching him carefully. He had a tendency to get too overwrought but he seemed to be coping fine with Athos closer to him.

“I meant it,” d'Artagnan whispered. “When I said I'm yours.”

Athos smiled and twitched the hand tightly clasped by d'Artagnan's to feel him squeeze it urgently.

“And I meant it when I said I still considered you that way regardless of what else was going on at the time,” Athos replied soothingly.

“It's OK that I feel... you feel like...”

“A father figure?” Athos asked gently.

D'Artagnan exhaled heavily and turned onto his side, nuzzling into Athos' chest. He kept hold of Athos' hand, holding it tight between them.

“It's absolutely fine, my boy. I feel that way too,” he murmured softly. “I need that hand back,” Athos teased after a minute.

“I haven't finished with it,” he replied playfully.

“Rest, puppy. We have a long ride ahead of us tonight,” Athos said softly, closing his eyes.

“Yes, Sir,” d'Artagnan murmured and nuzzled against him.

  
  


  
  


  
  


D'Artagnan was far more watchful when the four of them rose. He watched Aramis and Porthos moving around and saw the way they touched each other as they passed. He realised they'd always done it. Always leaned on each other's shoulders, touched each other's arms... He saw now it was more than that. He saw the affection in the gestures. 

"Porthos thanked me earlier for accepting your relationship. I see now how vital you are to one another. I see now that it has always been so. I think I have made my decision. I would not have you hide yourselves," d'Artagnan announced suddenly as they took their seats for supper.

The three Musketeers at the table all froze and looked at him. D'Artagnan looked at each of them in turn. Porthos was simply stunned, Aramis was beaming at him but there was an intense pride in Athos' eyes that made d'Artagnan feel seven feet tall.

"Are you sure friend?" Aramis asked, unable to keep the excitement from his voice.

"I am. I was willing to hide a deserter and assassin for no other reason that I trust you as my brother. Seeing the two of you together I do not believe any man or God could convince me this is wrong. Athos told me you warm him and having spent time with you, I understand. If you would have me, I would like to join in that warmth and not have my brothers' love hidden from me," d'Artagnan replied.

Porthos was beyond words but leaned sideways to gently bump shoulders with the Gascon.

"Thank you, my friend. Thank you indeed. I have felt as if we were hiding the most important thing in our lives from you. I am overjoyed not to need to do so now!" Aramis cried, clapping his hands together.

As they ate, Athos watched his friends become more relaxed. Their hands brushed against each other, their feet met under the table. Aramis and Porthos were pleased to be able to make these gentle touches but as they grew closer to departure, became more and more tense.

“Gentlemen. I know this will be a difficult week but we have two or three days to simply ride. I beg you, relax.”

“Oh dear, mi vida. We've angered Father again. With any luck he'll take us over his knee and show us the error of our ways,” Aramis said, smirking.

Porthos snorted and scooped up the plates off the table, taking them to the kitchen. D'Artagnan followed with the remaining dishes and helped Porthos clean up in the small kitchen.

“Alright lad?”

D'Artagnan hid his face from Porthos, his cheeks blazing. The idea of Athos... over Athos' knee... to be...

“Lad?” Porthos asked again.

He lay a hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder and shook him gently.

“I am fine,” he gasped, clutching the counter.

“D'Artagnan,” came Athos' soft voice from the doorway.

Porthos quickly left and d'Artagnan felt Athos take his place, the hand on his shoulder much gentler. He felt Athos' thumb stroking slightly, soothing him.

“What is it?” he asked.

D'Artagnan took a shaky breath and turned to look at Athos.

“Overwhelmed,” he whispered, looking over Athos' shoulder to the men in the living room.

“By the image Aramis painted?” Athos asked, matching his whisper. D'Artagnan nodded, his eyes closing in shame. “Because it made you think of them and I together or something else?”

“Something else, Sir” d'Artagnan whispered.

“You thought of me doing that to you?” Athos asked, a smirk twisting his lips. He felt a lurch of desire in his stomach at the vision of taking the hotheaded young Gascon over his knee.

“Yes Sir,” d'Artagnan whispered, his skin prickling.

“I'd like that too. Perhaps when we're home in a week, my boy,” Athos murmured. “Now shh. Relax puppy. Breathe. That's it. Breathe.”

D'Artagnan forced his breathing back to normal, following Athos' words. He managed to open his eyes and met Athos' icy blue ones. His normal calm was present but there was a hunger there that the Gascon felt all the way down to his toes. He closed his eyes again but the hand on his shoulder squeezed and he opened them.

“No shame. Not with me,” Athos whispered. “Hide what you like from the others. Not from me.”

“OK Sir. I'll try,” d'Artagnan answered, smiling weakly.

“Let us depart then, gentlemen. The sun is almost setting,” Athos said, raising his voice.

 


	16. Chapter 16

The four of them rode out of Paris just as torches were being lit in the street. Athos rode at the front with Aramis beside him, his eyes being the sharpest. D'Artagnan rode in the centre with their spare horse and Porthos brought up the rear. They made excellent progress since the roads were empty, talking very little. On one of their pauses to rest the horses, they discussed whether to stop. The sun was just beginning to rise but the horses still seemed full of energy. It was agreed they would ride on for a couple more hours at a gentle pace to get a bit further along before setting up a camp to get some rest.

As France began to wake up, the need for vigilance was lessened and they broke into their normal pairings, d'Artagnan riding beside Athos with Porthos and Aramis following.

Athos turned the off the road after about another hour, into the trees and they continued along for another five miles along the line of a stream until they found a suitable clearing. They quickly began undoing the horses, settling them for a long rest and preparing feed for them.

Aramis finished first and was singing quietly to his horse while it ate. He waited until Porthos had finished rubbing his horse down and the two of them began clearing smooth ground for them to sleep.

“Even though it's daylight, I think we should still set up watches. I will take the first watch and the three of you should get some sleep,” Athos said joining them.

Aramis glanced over his shoulder at d'Artagnan who had finished tending to his own horse and was preparing feed for the fifth.

“Should we not watch in pairs?” Aramis suggested.

“Do you think that's necessary?” Athos asked in surprise.

“I think it would benefit the two of you, no?” Aramis asked, lowering his voice. “Whatever progress you two have made should not be wasted by separating yourself from him.”

“Progress?” Porthos asked.

“We'll talk,” Aramis promised, smirking at the withering look Athos gave them.

The four of them gathered to share a light meal. They didn't bother lighting a fire as it was so warm out. D'Artagnan found his attention caught by watching Porthos and Aramis together. Aramis had clearly grown sleepy and was leaning against Porthos. Even thought he knew they were intimate, d'Artagnan could see no lasciviousness in the proximity.

“OK, my love. I think it's time we got our heads down,” said Aramis, yawning widely.

“I think about three hours each watch. That gives the horses plenty of rest and by the time we continue, we'll be past the heat of the early afternoon. If we continue walking through the night, we should be able to make good progress while it's cool,” Athos said, looking at the mid-morning sun in the sky above them.

Porthos nodded at him and stood, pulling Aramis up with him. They relocated to a tree nearby and stretched out.

Athos watched them strip their weapons and coats off and lay down. They slotted together like pieces of a puzzle, Porthos' arms settling around Aramis like they were made for him.

He glanced sideways as d'Artagnan sat down beside him and saw that he, too, was watching the couple in the shade of the tree. He saw a small smile cross d'Artagnan's face as Aramis turned to share a tender kiss with Porthos.

“Let's give them some privacy,” Athos murmured, turning around away from them.

D'Artagnan copied him and they sat together with their backs to the couple beneath the tree. They undid their sword belts and took their jackets off in deference to the rising warmth. Athos laid out his sword and pistol to his right, however.

“I'd like you to try and rest,” Athos murmured softly.

“I thought we were watching in pairs. Do you not trust me to watch over them?” d'Artagnan asked, immediately firing up.

“I am of the opinion you did not get enough sleep last night. Twice you were so tense it woke me up. I don't think you slept at all in the afternoon. Last night was the first time you have had to watch out for ambushes in the dark for hours on end and I know how nerve-wracking that can be. I, as your commanding officer, would like you to rest here beside me. Do you understand?” Athos asked, his voice still soft but with a slight edge d'Artagnan recognised.

He opened his mouth to respond but was caught by the determination in the blue eyes watching him.

“I wanted to take the watch with you,” he said.

Athos felt his resolve tested at the adorable pout on his face but he kept his eyes steady.

“I am not telling you that you must sleep. I am asking you to rest beside me,” Athos said quietly.

“I'd assumed we would set some traps or do some hunting so we could make a meal later,” d'Artagnan continued.

“Aramis and Porthos can do that while we sleep. For now, I would like you to rest beside me,” Athos repeated.

“Why don't I-”

D'Artagnan's next suggestion was cut off by Athos raising his hand, a trick he'd learned from watching Aramis.

“I have told you what I would like. If you insist on doing other things I will become irritated,” he said, firmly.

Athos watched patiently as ripples of annoyance, defiance, irritation and then a sudden acceptance flashed across the young face.

“Yes Sir,” d'Artagnan whispered. He looked around uncertainly.

“I believe we're secluded enough that we can allow ourselves a little indulgence. Would you like to rest with your head in my lap?” Athos asked, a hint of nerves in his voice.

“You don't mind that they.... they might see?”

“They're asleep and they are the least judgemental people we know. They love you and I both. The same protection you offered them will be extended to you and I know they will certainly protect me,” Athos replied.

“They won't... tease?”

“They might,” Athos admitted. “They'll stop if I tell them it's too much.”

“I don't know if I can deal with that while I haven't yet worked out what it is,” d'Artagnan said, staring at his hands in his lap.

“First of all, I will protect you from them. Second of all, if you are half the man I think you are, you can take it. Third of all, you have enough knowledge now to return it,” Athos said, smirking slightly.

D'Artagnan laughed quietly and nodded.

“So I can make remarks about them being together?”

“In the event they should tease you, I don't see why not.”

D'Artagnan grinned and let his mind wander.

“So the next time they tease me about showing them up in front of Father...” he said dreamily.

“You can tell them you're Papa's favourite,” Athos said, watching carefully for his reaction.

Just as Athos hoped, d'Artagnan's face turned to pure shock until his cheeks began to grow warm and his eyes glazed over slightly. He squeezed d'Artagnan's knee gently, bringing him back.

“Papa?” he whispered.

“When the two of us are alone, I don't see why not. We both acknowledged that was an element of whatever is between us,” Athos said quietly.

“But... your puppy?” d'Artagnan asked, confused.

“You are both. My puppy and my lovely boy,” Athos said, squeezing his knee again. “Rest now.”

Athos watched closely as d'Artagnan was clearly still stunned. He slowly moved onto his back on the grass and gingerly lay his head on Athos' thigh.

“May I?” asked Athos, holding his hand above d'Artagnan's hair.

“I'd like that,” he whispered.

“Come back a bit, then,” Athos murmured. He smiled and began stroking the younger man's hair when his head was more settled in his lap.

“I'm... Sir... I...”

“Overwhelmed again?”

“Yes,” d'Artagnan whispered.

“Breathe with me, darling boy,” Athos murmured, breathing deeply so d'Artagnan could follow it.

Slowly d'Artagnan felt himself calming and he smiled lazily up at Athos.

“How do you do that? Every time.”

“You'll learn to be able to do it yourself but I will always help you when you need me,” Athos replied, stroking his hair again. “What got to you?”

“I'm embarrassed to say,” d'Artagnan replied, smiling easily. Athos raised an eyebrow. “Felt like... the beginning of a relationship,” he said bashfully.

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey to Troyes continues, giving them all a chance to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted early today... Have the day off work! :)

Aramis woke to a gentle shaking motion on his shoulder. He woke quickly, remembering where he was. D'Artagnan was gently waking them while Athos was stretching.

“Thank you friend,” he murmured, receiving a nod from d'Artagnan who withdrew to join Athos.

He turned in Porthos' arms, feeling him wake as Aramis moved.

“Time to swap?” Porthos grumbled.

“Indeed, mi vida. Up we get,” Aramis replied, kissing him softly.

They rose and went through their stretches quickly, receiving a nod of approval from Athos.

“Oh look, Porthos. Father is pleased with us,” Aramis said teasingly.

“We are very good,” Porthos answered.

“Maybe we'll get a reward,” Aramis put in.

“That would be nice. Maybe he'll give us some land since he has so much spare?” Porthos suggested.

“Or money?”

“Or wine?”

Aramis playfully smacked him in the back of the head.

“Don't be silly, Porthos. He would never share wine!” Aramis cried.

Athos chuckled softly and shook his head at the pair.

“You are incorrigible,” he said quietly.

“Uh oh... Papa's mad again,” Aramis said, winking at him.

Athos ignored the comment and moved his belongings to the shade of the tree his friends had recently left. D'Artagnan had followed him and was laying out their weapons in close reach.

“D'Artagnan had the idea that you could hunt while we're sleeping and we could eat here before travelling on,” Athos said.

“And yet he didn't hunt? Is the young d'Artagnan not able to move around in the woods all by his lonesome?” Aramis teased.

Porthos sniggered.

“Perhaps 'e's too delicate?” he suggested.

“Perhaps he's just scared of rabbits?” Aramis said. They smirked over at d'Artagnan. “Dear me... All the fight seems to have gone out of him.”

D'Artagnan finally looked at them.

“Well... We had to come up with something to stop you climbing into each other's breeches while we're sleeping,” d'Artagnan said, shrugging.

He turned his back on them, grinning to himself. He caught Athos' eye and received a tiny nod of approval. There was a sudden guffaw of laughter from Porthos and he knew the comment had been taken well.

Athos and d'Artagnan settled down, Athos flat on his back with d'Artagnan's head pillowed on his chest. Athos smiled, feeling d'Artagnan fall asleep almost immediately. He'd expected this since he'd grown more and more drowsy without falling asleep earlier. It took him longer to fall asleep because he was trying to listen to Aramis and Porthos talking. After about twenty minutes, though, they were still discussing the mission and he let himself drift off.

  
  


  
  


  
  


Porthos sighed heavily and Aramis looked up from cleaning his pistol.

“Mi vida?” he asked.

“I'm bored Sire,” pouted Porthos.

Aramis just chuckled.

“So what's going on between them?” Porthos asked, reclining back on his elbows.

Aramis looked over his shoulder to the pair sprawled out by the tree.

“I don't think they've decided yet. They're definitely attracted to one another but I don't think they've acted on it more than a quick fumble. There's something else building, though. Athos thinks he might have some... proprietary feelings towards the boy,” Aramis answered.

Porthos frowned.

“Like how you feel towards me?”

“No, I don't think so. More fatherly, I think. I don't think he feels as strict as I do. I don't think he has the urge to control and manipulate d'Artagnan whereas I definitely feel that towards you,” Aramis answered, putting the pistol aside and picking up his arquebus.

“So he's not as mean as you, Sire?” Porthos teased.

“He's not as mean as me,” Aramis confirmed, grinning.

“What do we do about it? Do we help?”

“I'm acting as an abat-voix for Athos. I don't know about d'Artagnan. I think he grew up rather sheltered and this is all coming at him too fast to cope with. I'm not sure you or I interjecting would help,” he answered.

“You reckon us asking about it would be too much for him?” Porthos asked, sitting back up.

“Yes. I think he's clinging to Athos to help him work things out. All we can do is support Athos and answer any questions either of them have.”

“Any questions, Sire?” Porthos asked, frowning again.

“You're welcome to turn any questions to me. I don't intend to share too much information about just how much control I have over you but since I think some element of authority factors into whatever is between them I think it would be disingenuous to pretend that doesn't exist between us,” Aramis said. He was watching Porthos' reaction carefully.

“Sire... I... I don't like that idea,” Porthos answered slowly.

“I know, my boy. I know. I'm not certain yet how much I want to share about us but we want to help our brothers, do we not?” Aramis said, gently.

“Yes Sire,” Porthos answered. He took a deep breath and smiled at Aramis.

“I'm proud of you, mi vida,” he said softly.

Porthos leaned over and kissed Aramis, intending it to be a light brush of the lips but found himself caught.

Aramis wound his hand up into Porthos' curls and held him tightly. He kissed Porthos hungrily, seeking his tongue, claiming his mouth. He moaned against Porthos, feeling him press back against his invading tongue, feeling his desire matched.

They broke apart, panting slightly and after a few seconds chuckled. Both of their eyes swept the surrounding area, checking they hadn't missed anything in the minutes they'd been absorbed.

They chuckled guiltily and sat back.

“Still bored?” Aramis asked, grinning at him.

“No, Sire,” Porthos answered, laughing.

Aramis returned to his musket and Porthos reclined back onto the ground again.

  
  


  
  


  
  


Athos woke up to find d'Artagnan had moved increasingly across him and was now laying almost entirely across his body. He smiled at the peaceful look on the young face and stretched his arms above his head.

“Didn't mean to wake you,” Porthos said quietly from somewhere in the trees.

Athos lifted his eyes to find him stood with an armful of wood and two dead rabbits in his hand.

“It's OK, brother,” Athos murmured. “Time?”

“You've got another half an hour. We're just starting the fire to boil some water and start dinner in a little while. The temperature's just started to drop so we should make good progress,” Porthos said, keeping his voice low.

Athos nodded.

“Sounds good,” he answered.

Porthos grinned and stepped away.

“You were polite, weren't you?” Aramis asked, seeing Porthos return from speaking with Athos.

“Didn't even mention it, Sire,” he answered, sitting down to build the fire with Aramis.

“Are they getting up?”

“I told him they still had half an hour. The lad isn't even awake yet. Still sleeping like a baby,” Porthos answered.

“That was nice of you. We're past their three hours already,” Aramis replied, smiling.

“We have enough to do with the fire, the food, the horses. What harm is there in letting them have a few extra minutes together?”

“I agree, mi vida,” Aramis answered.

They worked in silence for a few minutes until the fire was crackling softly between them. They set some water from the stream to boil and tended to the horses, setting out their feed.

When they sat back together beside the fire, they began skinning the two rabbits.

“Do you remember when we came out camping after getting together?” Porthos asked.

“Always. You saved my life, Porthos.”

They regarded each other in silence for a few moments before Aramis leaned in to kiss him. This was a tender thing. It made them sigh against each other, lingering against the other man's lips.

“I love you,” Aramis murmured.

“I love you too,” Porthos answered. He kissed Aramis again, able to feel him smile.

They turned back to the fire and Aramis leaned against Porthos' side, watching his surprisingly nimble fingers work so deftly on the meat.

  
  


  
  


“See them together?” Athos asked.

D'Artagnan nodded. They were still laying on the ground but Athos was cradling him in his arms, his back to Athos' chest. They were watching the backs of their brothers, leaning on each other.

“They kiss with such love,” d'Artagnan whispered in awe.

“They love each other,” Athos replied. He began stroking d'Artagnan's stomach to soothe him and felt the Gascon fidgeting.

“Sir,” he gasped.

“Yes?” Athos asked, smirking slightly. It appeared his gesture intended as soothing had come across quite differently.

“Sir. They might... they might see,” he whispered.

Athos let his hand trail further down and was startled to find d'Artagnan was already semi-hard in his breeches.

“You don't seem to mind the idea of them seeing you,” Athos murmured.

“No, Sir... please,” he whispered.

“What turned you on? Was it seeing them?” Athos asked, his fingers returning to trail back and forth across his stomach, the other hand resting on d'Artagnan's thigh.

“Yes Sir,” he breathed, his cheeks flaming into life.

“You liked seeing them kiss?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You liked watching them touch each other? You like seeing them close? You watched them kiss?” Athos asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes, Sir,” d'Artagnan whispered again.

“Dirty boy,” Athos murmured.

D'Artagnan whimpered and turned his face to hide against the grass. Athos smiled and stroked his back gently until he calmed down enough to lift his head.

“OK?” he asked, searching d'Artagnan's face.

“You're mean,” d'Artagnan answered, smiling.

“You're irresistible,” Athos replied.

D'Artagnan smiled shyly and dropped his eyes.

“What is it?” Athos asked, lifting his chin with his fingertip.

“When we get home, I'd very much like to kiss you,” d'Artagnan whispered.

“I would like that, too. When we get home,” confirmed Athos. “Now, up we get.”

  
  


  
  


  
  


“I'm always surprised when you cook, Porthos,” said d'Artagnan tasting his soup.

“Why?” Porthos asked, frowning.

“It's always so delicate. I never expect you to be delicate,” he answered.

A chuckle ran through the group, including Porthos.

“Well normally I would have delegated to the apprentice but he was... otherwise engaged,” Porthos said, smirking.

“It was a long ride. I needed a nap,” d'Artagnan retorted, shrugging.

Athos smirked to himself. He'd been slightly worried with d'Artagnan becoming so overwhelmed so often but it seemed the Gascony spirit was still alive and well.

“Indeed? How regal of you!” Aramis chuckled. “Should we find a town nearby and seek out a carriage for our Gascony prince?”

“Maybe a velvet cushion?” Porthos suggested.

“Silk clothes, definitely,” Aramis added.

“If you're paying then don't let me stop you,” d'Artagnan said, tipping his glass to them.

“Gold plates. Vintage wines!” cried Aramis.

“The finest inns,” added Porthos.

“Oh indeed! Feather beds!” cried Aramis, growing more dramatic and holding his hand out.

“Well I'm sure the wine would please Athos,” Porthos said, inclining his head to the silent Musketeer, watching them amused.

“And I'm sure the bed would please the two of you,” d'Artagnan put in.

Porthos snorted with laughter.

“Why yes, it would,” Aramis said, laughing.

Athos rested his hand on d'Artagnan's knee and squeezed gently for a moment before withdrawing it. D'Artagnan glanced at him and felt a ripple of pride at the approval on the older man's face.

Aramis nudged Porthos, who nodded at him, also having noticed the small gesture.

The four of them ate in a comfortable silence, feeling the temperature drop around them. As they sat drinking wine after their soup, Aramis took Porthos' hand in his and rested them comfortably in his lap.

“How long have you been together?” asked d'Artagnan suddenly.

“Just over five years,” Aramis answered, turning to smile at him.

Athos cleared his throat meaningfully.

“Well... That's how long we've been a couple,” Aramis conceded.

“You were in love before that?” d'Artagnan asked. “How long have you been in love?”

“Since the day we met but we only acknowledged it ooh... how long ago?”

“Eight years, Sire,” Porthos answered immediately, smiling at him.

“Eight? Goodness! It can't possibly be that long. I am too young and too fair to have been a Musketeer for so long!” Aramis cried, placing his hand over his heart.

“Let's stick with five years before he gets even more grey hairs,” Porthos said turning to d'Artagnan. “Not that you have any of course, Sire. I'm joking.”

Another small chuckle ran through them all. Aramis was notoriously sensitive about the flecks of grey in his beard.

“So you denied it for three years?” d'Artagnan asked.

“Yes. We were young and naïve and thought that we could live without each other,” Aramis said shrugging.

“Must have hurt,” said d'Artagnan quietly, glancing at their clasped hands.

“Agony,” Aramis agreed. He lifted their hands and kissed Porthos' hand. Porthos turned them in his hand and did the same thing to Aramis'.

A comfortable silence fell over them as they finished their wine. D'Artagnan didn't drink all of his, handing it to Athos to finish instead. Athos drained it one and took a breath. The rest took it as a single to move on and they all rose to begin preparing to leave.

“It feels strange to breaking a camp mid afternoon. Normally it's when we start looking for a campsite,” d'Artagnan mused to Athos as they tacked the horses.

“Travel by night is more dangerous as the fire can be seen but, as you've seen, the roads are quieter. We tend to only use it during tasks like this where stealth is necessary,” Athos answered. “In truth we're being over cautious because we won't be able to travel with the Duchess overnight. It's good practice, though.”

D'Artagnan nodded thoughtfully and the four of them mounted up.

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Musketeers draw closer to their objective and to one another.

They mounted up and moved out, Athos again taking the lead with Aramis, picking careful routes through the trees. Aramis followed with the fifth horse in tow and d'Artagnan chose to ride beside Porthos at the back.

“Can I ask you something I didn't want to ask in front of Aramis?”

Porthos looked at him warily.

“You can ask but I won't keep it secret from him. What's the problem?”

“You... He calls you mi vida,” d'Artagnan said hesitantly.

“Yup.”

“You... what do you call him?”

“You heard what I call him. What are you asking?”

“Why do you call him that?” d'Artagnan asked nervously.

“We'll talk about it together when we stop,” Porthos said, unhelpfully.

“I wanted to ask you alone,” d'Artagnan said, reaching out and touching Porthos' arm.

The larger man smiled at him.

“It involves us both, you talk to us both,” he said. His tone was firm but not unfriendly.

  
  


When they stopped to rest the horses, Porthos turned and looked expectantly at the young Gascon.

“Care to fill us in?” Athos asked.

“D'Artagnan has a question that I wouldn't answer without Aramis,” Porthos explained.

Aramis sauntered closer and leaned his arm on Porthos' shoulder.

“This sounds good. What **have** I missed?” he asked playfully.

D'Artagnan stared between the two, his mouth dry. He glanced at Athos for help who quickly moved to his side and lightly touched his wrist.

Aramis tilted his head watched Athos exaggerate his breathing and d'Artagnan following it. He saw Athos nod slightly and d'Artagnan looked back at Aramis.

“Porthos calls you 'Sire'. I wondered why,” he said boldly.

“Between the two of us, I am in charge,” Aramis answered.

“But it's not... It didn't seem... It wasn't a sexual thing?” d'Artagnan asked, blushing slightly.

“No. It's not. It's an all the time thing,” Aramis answered, smiling.

“But doesn't that-”

“I understand your curiosity but please respect our privacy,” Aramis interrupted. “Suffice to say he answers to me at all times but rest assured we love each other more than life itself. We're both remarkably happy and no other arrangement would make us as fulfilled and peaceful. Can you accept that?” he asked, calmly.

D'Artagnan looked back and forth between the two, settling his gaze on Porthos.

“It really makes you happy to answer to him all the time?”

“Yes,” he answered, stiffly.

“Do you... Hm,” d'Artagnan said thoughtfully.

“Yeah?” Porthos asked abruptly.

“I was going to ask if you worry about losing yourself but I haven't known you any other way so I figure it's part of you,” he replied.

“It is. He is,” said Porthos, his voice softening.

  
  


When they set off again, the sky beginning to darken, d'Artagnan rode beside Athos.

“You're doing very well,” Athos said softly after a few minutes.

“With what?”

“All this new information. You're seeking the information you need but doing so respectfully. I'm proud of you,” Athos replied.

“I think I want a relationship with you,” d'Artagnan said.

Athos stared at him for a few seconds.

“Athos?” the younger man asked nervously.

“I apologise. That was slightly unexpected. What prompted that? I thought we'd agreed to discuss it when we were back in Paris?” Athos said. He mentally kicked himself for how winded he sounded.

“I don't know if it's romance but I know I want a relationship. I know I most **definitely** want a physical relationship and this sense of adherence to your will is something I would like to explore. I don't know if it will work. I don't know if it's something you want. I don't know if romance is buried somewhere in there as well. I just know it's something I would like to explore,” d'Artagnan said boldly, lifting his chin to regard Athos steadily.

“That's a lot of information to receive in ten seconds,” Athos said thoughtfully.

D'Artagnan lapsed into silence, watching Athos carefully in the growing gloom.

“Light your lantern please, m'boy,” Athos said, glancing around at the dark.

“Am I to take that term to mean you accept my proposal?” d'Artagnan teased, rummaging in his saddlebag for the matches.

“I don't believe you made me one. You simply told me what you wanted,” Athos replied calmly.

“It was a request,” countered d'Artagnan, striking a match and leaning in to light the candle.

“I didn't hear a request. I heard 'I want, I want' the entire time,” Athos replied playfully, turning to take the lantern.

“Well what do **you** want, then?” d'Artagnan asked, resisting the urge to stick his tongue out at the smirking man.

“I think I want our marksman to take point with me,” Athos said, dismissing him with a wave. At the last moment he turned to smirk at d'Artagnan, causing the younger man to grin.

Athos turned his head as Aramis moved into place beside him.

“Goodness. That's quite a mischievous smirk, Athos. Normally when I see that smirk I immediately remove my clothes lest they be torn from my body by a hungry Musketeer,” Aramis said grinning.

Athos laughed suddenly. It was still a quiet sound, as Athos usually was, but it was unguarded and relaxed, two things Athos rarely was.

Aramis glanced round at the others to see Porthos and d'Artagnan's bemused expressions in the lantern Porthos carried.

“Athos?” Aramis asked.

“Joy,” Athos answered softly, shaking his head. “I think I have just felt joy for the first time in years.”

  
  


 

  
  


 

They made excellent progress through the night, much more than expected. They'd anticipated rougher ground and thicker trees but had been able to trot most of the way. The temperature had dropped significantly for a few hours so the horses had been eager to push on, requiring shorter stops. They made their camp in the morning near a stream and Athos consulted their maps.

“I believe we're here,” he said pointing to a spot on the map. “That means we are less than a day's ride from Troyes. It is only Tuesday and the Duchess' party is not due to pass through until Wednesday night. We are to meet with our scout at noon on Thursday to allow them time to clear Troyes.”

“What do you propose?” asked Aramis, seeing Athos' thoughtful expression.

“If I'm correct and we are by this stream,” he replied, pointing again. “Then about five miles in that direction is this stream.”

“That feeds Bourbon-Les-Eaux,” said d'Artagnan. “You mean to scout a way in and out?”

“Indeed,” Athos mused.

“It seems to get remarkably rocky up there,” commented Aramis.

“Well we 'ain't gonna be able to get the horses closer than about 'ere I reckon,” said Porthos, pointing at a spot between Bourbon-Les-Eaux and where they now stood.

“Because of the terrain?” asked d'Artagnan.

“Because of the noise. We can whisper. Horses don't,” Aramis explained. “Should we ride on and try and find a camp along that stream instead?”

Athos frowned in thought and the others waited patiently.

“Getting this far has been over excellent terrain and very smooth going. I would, however, feel more comfortable travelling with the Duchess further away from the road. Should they come looking for her, I'd like to be under deeper cover,” Athos said finally.

“Will it be as quick with her, though? It's definitely rockier the further north we go. It took **us** two days to get this far and if we're hoping to make the journey to and from Paris in two days a-piece I think we should stick to terrain that we now know,” Aramis said.

“You're probably right,” admitted Athos. “So we extract her from her guards and work our way either straight here or, depending on the severity of the rocks, meet this path somewhere else.”

“Aramis?” Porthos said, seeing his frown, unnoticed by the others.

“We have a problem,” he murmured. He pointed at a marking on the map and Porthos and Athos groaned.

“What?” asked d'Artagnan, not recognising the line.

“It's a pool. Surrounded by large rock faces,” Aramis explained, sighing.

“Reckon she can climb a bloody cliff in the dark?” Porthos muttered.

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Musketeers begin to scout the area surrounding Bourbon-Les-Eaux

Athos took d'Artagnan to scout the waters, leaving Porthos to tend to the horses and Aramis to seek out a suitable place to tether them while they extracted the Duchess. After just under three hours, Aramis returned. Porthos breathed a sigh of relief, seeing him come swaggering through the trees.

“Sire,” he murmured.

“Hi,” Aramis replied quietly, walking straight to Porthos and pressing against his body.

Porthos wrapped his arms around him immediately and buried his face into his hair. They stood together for a long minute, simply embracing each other.

“What did you find?” asked Porthos when Aramis finally stepped away.

“Athos was right. The second stream is about five miles away, still flat ground. It gets seriously steep all of a sudden, though. They're smooth rocks so we could climb them easily. Not sure how she'll cope on them, though.”

Porthos nodded thoughtfully and sat down to sharpen his dagger. Aramis sat beside him and began to clean his pistol.

“I do feel bad for blaming her, you know,” Porthos said suddenly.

“I know,” Aramis said quietly. “I've already been warned that Athos won't stand for you being rude to her.”

“I won't be. I'm tense, though. I hated seeing you walk off alone like that,”

“I'm tense too,” Aramis replied softly.

“Aramis. You still seem frightened of something. What is it?” Porthos asked gently.

“I'm not frightened now... Just tense. I think, however, I will find it harder to manage on the return journey from Paris. If we are delayed for any reason or seen or suspected... If he comes looking for her...”

“I see. OK. Shh. I understand, love.”

Porthos wrapped an arm around Aramis' shoulders, his dagger on the floor forgotten.

They were still sat like that when Athos and d'Artagnan joined them half an hour later. D'Artagnan was yawning hugely and Athos was sweating in the heat.

“Something's wrong,” Athos murmured to d'Artagnan as he saw the pair.

They sat down quietly opposite them and Athos caught a look at their faces.

“Brothers?” he prompted.

“We're fine, Athos,” said Aramis, smiling weakly. “Just had a moment of considering that this mission may lead to us being hunted in the woods by the Duke.”

Athos nodded his understanding. Porthos cleared his throat loudly.

“Yes, Porthos?” he asked.

“Aren't you gonna tell 'im he doesn't have to come on the return journey?”

“No. He won't permit you to join us if he does not. Technically he has the option not to come with us but he's made his choice not to let you ride out without him. We need you. Preferably both of you,” Athos said, firmly.

“Idiot,” Porthos muttered, pressing a kiss into Aramis' hair.

They lapsed into silence for a few minutes. Porthos and Aramis didn't move, the larger man's arm remaining tight around Aramis' shoulders. Athos was studying the map again, nodding to himself. He looked up, however, when d'Artagnan yawned again.

“So, gentlemen,” Athos said quietly. “We need to be in Troyes two days from now and I suggest that since we're remaining off the road, we aim to camp somewhere close by tomorrow night. I would, therefore, like to break camp here by eight in the morning. This means we have all afternoon to rest.”

The three men nodded at him.

“I would like for us to scout the waters overnight to get a sense of the land in the dark, though. So perhaps when the night is darkest tonight, whoever is on watch can wake the rest to fulfil this task?”

He received three nods of assent again.

“D'Artagnan,” he said, turning to the youngest. “I would like you to sleep now and we will wake you for the fourth watch. I know you're slightly behind on sleep at the moment and I wish for you to have the longest period unbroken.”

“I don't need mothering!” he retorted, lifting his chin in that defiant way.

Athos raised an eyebrow at him and almost immediately the colour drained from his face.

“I am not attempting to 'mother' you,” Athos replied calmly.

He gazed at d'Artagnan steadily, watching the shock, contrition and defiance ripple across his face. The silence became decidedly uncomfortable when d'Artagnan's Gascony pride seemed to be indomitable and he met Athos' gaze stubbornly.

“Shall we find a nice secluded spot to rest, mi vida?” Aramis asked, standing suddenly and pulling Porthos to his feet.

“What? We don't get to watch?” Porthos chuckled, allowing himself to be tugged just inside the tree line.

The silence dragged on for what felt like hours before d'Artagnan finally dropped his eyes to the floor. Athos quickly moved sideways to sit beside him and laid a hand on his knee.

“Such a disobedient boy,” he murmured, his voice full of lust.

D'Artagnan's eyes flew back up to him in shock. He'd been expecting admonishment, not flirtation.

“You aren't...”

“Upset? No. I know that if I'd made it a clear instruction you would have followed it. I rather enjoy your feisty nature,” Athos said quietly.

“I thought... Porthos... He...”

“Breathe,” Athos reminded him.

Together, they breathed slowly, calming d'Artagnan. He smiled gratefully at Athos.

“I get the impression that Porthos is expected to be obedient,” he said, forcing himself to be calm. “I don't think they want to talk about it just yet but the way Aramis said it was all the time makes me think that Porthos follows his orders, always.”

“You think that's what I want from you?” asked Athos, curiously.

“I... I'm not sure. They're the only example I've seen of that kind of bond,” d'Artagnan replied.

“Ah. Do you think Aramis feels remotely paternal about Porthos? Do you think Porthos would see our Aramis as a father figure? Can you imagine him seeing Porthos as his little boy? ”

D'Artagnan chuckled at the image.

“No,” he admitted.

“Theirs is a simple relationship. One is in charge, the other follows,” Athos said. He began stroking d'Artagnan's knee. “Is that what you want?”

“I don't know,” d'Artagnan answered, confusion on his face again. “Is it not? I feel the urge to obey you and to make you proud of my actions.”

“You don't always feel that urge,” countered Athos. “I see the rebellion in you. That spark of Gascony fire that can never be extinguished. That's why you're my puppy, not my fully trained working animal.”

Athos smiled warmly at d'Artagnan who was nodding thoughtfully.

“That's why you want to be taken in hand, my boy,” he murmured, dropping his voice. “You know you have a badly behaved streak that needs to be kept in check.”

D'Artagnan couldn't stop the moan that came to his lips as Athos' words sent an unexpected thrill of pure desire through him.

“See,” Athos continued in his low, hypnotic voice. “Good boys don't get turned on by the idea of being punished, do they?”

“No Sir,” d'Artagnan mumbled.

“Try again,” Athos said, his own voice dropping to a hoarse whisper.

“No Papa,” d'Artagnan breathed, his eyes closing.

Athos bit his lip to stop himself moaning and moved his hand to stroke d'Artagnan's back gently.

“Come back to me when you're ready,” he said softly.

For several minutes they sat quietly together. D'Artagnan with his eyes closed, his cheeks flushed, and Athos gently stroking his back. Finally, he turned his face to meet the calm blue eyes watching him carefully.

“Make your proposal,” Athos said formally.

D'Artagnan chuckled quietly again.

“If you would like, Sir, I would very much like the two of us to form a relationship. I would like it to be a physically intimate relationship where we can enjoy each other's bodies. I would like the two of us to explore this... this... power exchange. I propose that we explore slowly but I'd like to feel that this sense of obligation I have towards you is part of something between us and not just something I have invented,” he said, smiling.

“You propose to become my puppy and my little boy somewhat officially?” Athos asked, smirking.

“I do,” d'Artagnan confirmed.

“Then we can move forwards with that. I want to take things very slowly, d'Artagnan. I don't want to set any rules or make any great changes while we're out here, Athos said, suddenly serious. D'Artagnan nodded his understanding. “I do, however, reserve the right to point out your bad behaviour,” Athos added, mischievously.

D'Artagnan laughed and Athos was pleased to see no trace of the shame he'd previously struggled with.

“Are you keeping score?” he teased.

“Not yet. Perhaps I should though,” Athos murmured thoughtfully.

D'Artagnan laughed again and bumped him with his shoulder.

“How do you feel about romance?” he asked.

“I honestly don't know if I'm capable of it any more. I care deeply about you and I am definitely physically attracted to you. I love you as a brother and, partly, as a son. I don't know if there are romantic feelings beneath it,” Athos answered carefully.

“I feel the same. I don't want you to think I'm using you for sex. I, as you say, care very deeply about you and this... whatever we're building, feels so very right. I don't know if it based on romantic love, though. I see that theirs is. I don't know about ours,” d'Artagnan said in a rush.

“Peace,” Athos said calmly. “We will need to talk about this constantly. I may need a lot of prompting. Please ask me as many questions as you like. I might take some time to answer them but I will endeavour to do so. Understood?”

“I understand,” d'Artagnan answered and Athos' face broke into an easy smile. “If I tell you I refuse to ask anything, will you add to the tally?” he added, cheekily.

“I wouldn't be so bold as to act out in order to receive something you've yet to experience,” Athos replied, his voice a low murmur again.

D'Artagnan grinned at him.

“Bedtime,” Athos reminded him.

D'Artagnan hesitated before answering quietly.

“Yes, Papa,” he whispered.

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The four men enjoy their evening before scouting Bourbon-Les-Eaux

"Go to sleep mi vida," whispered Aramis. He could feel Porthos laying stiffly beside him. He hadn't slept at all while Aramis was on watch and seemed to be unable to fall asleep now as well.

"Go to sleep mi sol," rumbled Porthos, teasing slightly.

Aramis chuckled and turned onto his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows to look at his lover. Porthos was stretched out on his back, his hands behind his head.

"Are you even trying to sleep?" Aramis asked.

"Not trying to, no. Not really trying to stay awake, though. Just... resting," he answered, shrugging. "Are you hot?"

Aramis blinked at the sudden change in topic.

"Not particularly. The shade from the trees is quite sufficient," he answered. "Why do you ask?"

"Chose to lay without touching me," Porthos said, shrugging.

Despite his apparent nonchalance, Aramis was able to see the hurt in his eyes.

"You think I'm trying to stay away from you?"

"No," Porthos answered honestly. "I think you've got so much on your mind that you're just turning inwards."

Aramis sat up and frowned. Porthos continued to watch him silently.

"I think you're right. I will try and stop doing so."

Porthos rolled onto his side and propped his head up on one elbow. He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

"I reckon you need to relax," Porthos said quietly. Aramis was surprised to feel himself blushing at the suggestion. "Sire," Porthos added in a whisper.

Aramis recognised the look in Porthos' eyes and it sent a sudden lurch of desire straight through his body.

"Take your shirt off and onto your stomach," he whispered. As Porthos complied, Aramis shifted so that he was sat sideways and as Porthos rolled onto his stomach, Aramis guided his forehead onto his thigh. He felt Porthos' body stiffen as Aramis gripped his hair tightly. He let go and held his hand to his chest.

"Sire," Porthos whispered without lifting his head.

"Porthos," Aramis said, his voice cracking at the pleading in Porthos' voice. "Are you sure?"

In answer, his lover lifted his head and pressed a kiss to Aramis' leg. He sucked in a breath and gripped Porthos' hair again, his hold tight enough to draw a sharp gasp of pain. He swapped hands, using the arm opposite Porthos to press his head firmly against his leg. His other hand, he began to trail up and down Porthos' smooth back.

"You would do this for me, my love?" asked Aramis in a whisper.

"Yes Sire," answered Porthos quietly. "If I can help you, I will. If this will help you..." he trailed off.

"I need to hear you say it, my darling boy," Aramis murmured.

"I offer myself to you, Sire."

Porthos growled as Aramis' nails dragged suddenly up his back. He had a fleeting thought that he hadn't realised how long they'd grown when they swiped back down, leaving sudden unexpected trails of fire on his skin. He panted slightly against Aramis' leg.

"Still certain?" Aramis asked, his voice quavering slightly.

Porthos suddenly realised what Aramis was seeking. He had assumed Aramis would benefit from sexual release, perhaps slightly rougher than normal. He hadn't expected Aramis' desire for his pain to surface. It was not, however, a question Porthos needed to consider before answering.

"Yes, Sire."

Porthos forced himself to take deep breaths. He could feel Aramis sinking into whatever head space it was that made him desire Porthos' pain and, despite it often being his idea or request, it always, always gave Porthos butterflies. Aramis needed this. If he was going to spend the next week with the woman on whose account the massacre had happened, he was going to need to a solid grip on who he was now.

Aramis smoothed his hand across Porthos' back, surprised how much calmer he was feeling already. He could feel the slight shift in Porthos' body, the way his head felt heavier against Aramis' leg, that meant he was reaching that passive place where he'd accept anything Aramis threw at him. He felt a smirk spread across his face and a tightening in his groin at the idea of challenging that peace. There was a primal, feral part of him that wanted to make hard, challenging use of his boy.

Porthos managed to stay utterly silent through the first wave of Aramis' passes across his back, the pressure being purely pleasurable. He was a man who rather liked a bit of pain with his pleasure. He could tell, however, from the random quick swipes that Aramis wasn't intending for this to be enjoyable. He was a methodical, symmetrical man, no matter what he used. His mind flashed back to the dozens of times he'd insisted on continuing to beat Porthos with canes, whips and straps until he was, in Aramis' words, 'nice and even'. As a sudden pass of Aramis' nails blazed a path across his lower back, Porthos steeled himself.

Aramis paused to admire the skin beneath his hand. There was a faint redness growing, his movements having been too random to pick out any particular trails. He could feel his cock hardening in his breeches and licked his lips. Resuming his random, wide swiping passes, he let his nails dig in slightly more, feeling Porthos' entire body tensing as it clearly began to be unpleasant for the warrior.

Porthos grunted in pain and screwed his eyes closed. He wasn't used to this. He was used to rhythm, to planning, to being able to focus on Aramis. He realised with a start that he'd been trying to help Aramis by trying to control him. He hadn't really offered himself. He had been trying to offer him an act. With a few deep breaths, he managed to control and calm himself, submitting to the pain. The fast, unpredictable lines of heat forced him to give up his illusion of control and he finally succumbed to the pain, groaning loudly.

The hand on the back of Porthos' head suddenly lifted. He, however, made no move to rise. He could tell from Aramis' movements he was unlacing his breeches and under-clothes but the growing pain on his back was giving him far too much to think about.

Aramis increased the pressure of his nails as he stroked himself to hardness with his other hand. Porthos was gasping and grunting with pain now, the skin on his back becoming more and more abraded.

Porthos felt a sudden sharp painful yank on his hair as his head was lifted and unceremoniously dropped onto Aramis' long member. Reflexively, he tightened his lips around his lover and began to move his mouth up and down. He heard Aramis sigh in satisfaction and the nails on his back stopped.

Slowly, Porthos found a rhythm Aramis seemed to like. It was faster than he normally liked and he wasn't being at all hesitant about expecting Porthos to take his whole length. When Porthos finally managed it, Aramis moaned softly.

Porthos growled around Aramis' member, deep in his throat when nails suddenly dug into his shoulder blade. He felt the skin break under the pressure and growled again, the shock making him start to gag.

Aramis' other hand resumed its place on Porthos' hair, pulling him up, just long enough to take a deep breath before pressing him down firmly again.

Porthos clenched his hands at his sides as Aramis began to make rough, fast use of his mouth. It was painful, it was vulgar, it was gloriously degrading. He growled again as Aramis' nails began to drag wildly across his skin. He could feel the skin catching as it began to break under the onslaught.

Aramis dug his nails into the back of Porthos' neck, pressing his lover's head down, feeling his body spasm as he gagged. He moaned long and low as he released deep inside Porthos' throat. As he roughly pulled Porthos' mouth off his cock, his nails swiped one last time from the waistband of his breeches all the way up to the lump of bone at the base of his neck.

Porthos finally felt Aramis lift his head up and as the savage lines of pain exploded across his skin, a long loud growl burst from his throat.

Before the pain had finished flaring, Aramis pulled Porthos' head close and began to stroke his curls. Tears sprang to his eyes and he nuzzled against his lover's leg.

“Ok for a second?” Aramis asked, whispering.

Porthos nodded in silence and within seconds Aramis had relaced his clothing and laid down beside Porthos. Gently tugging he pulled Porthos' head onto his chest. He exhaled heavily, quickly morphing into a soft giggle. Porthos nuzzled his collarbones happily.

“Thank you my boy,” Aramis whispered, still giggling.

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


Athos stretched and glanced at the setting sun. He'd wake d'Artagnan in about an hour to take over from him. He glanced down at his sleeping form and smiled. When Aramis had woken Athos for the next watch, d'Artagnan had insisted on coming with him. He hadn't tried to stay awake, though, content to just curl up on the ground beside Athos and return to sleep. He had stripped to just his shirt in deference to the heat and was using his jacket as a thin pillow.

Athos rolled his eyes, hearing the unmistakeable sounds of Porthos and Aramis enjoying the seclusion of the trees and returned to the maps. D'Artagnan woke suddenly beside him and Athos looked down. He reached for his sword out of instinct but Athos gently held his wrist. When d'Artagnan opened his mouth, Athos held a finger to his own lips.

D'Artagnan frowned and then felt a sudden rush of colour to his cheeks. He realised the noises he'd interpreted as distress were, in fact, noises of passion from inside the trees.

Athos and d'Artagnan found themselves unable to break eye contact as their friend's expressions became loud enough to hear without confusion. Athos gestured for d'Artagnan to sit up and when he did so, he wrapped his arm around the man's shoulders.

Before he could say anything, he felt d'Artagnan taking deep breaths to steady himself.

“Good boy,” he murmured.

“Are they...”

“Yes. I believe they are. That growling. That's Porthos. He makes that noise when it feels so good it hurts,” Athos murmured.

“Sir... we shouldn't be listening...” d'Artagnan gasped.

“No. We shouldn't,” Athos agreed. “Are you imagining what they're doing?”

“Yes,” he whispered.

Athos trailed his free hand over d'Artagnan's chest, slipping into the opening of his shirt and gently rolling his nipple in his fingers.

“Can you imagine what's making Porthos growl?” Athos murmured. “I seem to remember you like this verging on the side of discomfort.”

“Mmm. Yes please,” d'Artagnan breathed.

There was a soft moan from behind them.

“That was Aramis,” Athos whispered, continuing his gentle touches across d'Artagnan's nipple. He rubbed his palm across the small nub, moving to the other and repeated the motion. “Doesn't he sound gorgeous?”

“Yes Sir,” d'Artagnan answered, arching his back.

Athos noticed d'Artagnan's hand twitching in his lap, unconsciously hiding his arousal.

“Hands to your sides please,” Athos murmured. When he complied Athos smirked and moved his face to whisper in d'Artagnan's ear. “You can't hide from me, dirty boy.”

D'Artagnan moaned and bit his lip, cutting the noise off. The growling continued and he felt the cravings beginning, silently begging Athos to make him hurt, too.

Athos smirked at the reaction and resumed gently rolling d'Artagnan's nipple in his fingers. He increased his grip gradually, feeling the younger man begin to fidget. He tightened his arm around d'Artagnan's shoulders, keeping him in place.

As his fingers grew slightly tighter, d'Artagnan finally gasped as a lightning bolt seemed to connect the sudden pain in his nipple to the growing arousal in his breeches.

“Dirty boy,” Athos repeated, letting go.

“Yes Papa,” d'Artagnan whispered.

Athos' hand moved down the tightly stretched material of d'Artagnan's breeches. He caressed the taut bulge, listening to the gasps from the younger man.

There was a sudden low moan from the trees and a deep rumbling growl that made the hairs stand up on their arms a few moments later.

“Hear that, dirty boy? One or both of them just found their release. With you listening to them. Do you think they know you can hear? Do they know what a dirty boy you are, listening to them? Getting turned on by them?” Athos murmured, stroking the taut material still.

“Oh, Papa,” d'Artagnan whispered, his hips bucking instinctively.

Athos removed his hand from d'Artagnan's crotch and tightened his arm around the man's shoulders. There was a breathy giggle from inside the trees and Athos smiled.

“It would appear the show's over,” he commented.

“But.. Sir...” d'Artagnan whimpered.

“I suggest you lay back down unless you want them to know you were listening in on them,” Athos murmured mischievously.

D'Artagnan hurriedly lay down and blushed. He rearranged his jacket until it was beside Athos' leg and he lay down, his face hidden. Athos chuckled lightly and stroked his hair.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I make no apologies for quite how shameless they all became. It was them. Not me.
> 
> Ahem.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preparations for the mission continue while d'Artagnan tries to find someone to talk to.

Aramis glanced around and decided this was as good a time as any to head to the pool. He stroked the sleeping Porthos' hair, his lover's head resting in his lap.

“Mmm?” Porthos asked without opening his eyes.

“Time to go scouting,” Aramis said quietly.

“Oh yeah,” Porthos replied, their plan dawning on him. He yawned widely and pulled himself up to a sitting position.

“I'm going to wake the others,” Aramis said, standing up.

“Hey,” Porthos said softly, reaching for him. “You OK?”

“Felt happier when we were camping by day but I'll be fine,” Aramis admitted.

Porthos nodded and watched him walk to the sleeping pair a short distance away. He was pleased to see their encounter that evening had relaxed him somewhat. It was never going to undo everything but he wasn't shutting himself away any more.

He saw Aramis' prayer book beside them and he nodded to himself, unsurprised. He glanced around at the trees and couldn't feel anyone watching. It seemed so far they had maintained their secrecy. Things would not be so easy with the Duchess. The light of a fire could attract people. That's why Athos wanted to move further from the road. It just wasn't feasible, though.

Aramis returned to sit beside him and Porthos handed him the prayer book.

“Want to know what I was reading?” he asked.

“Only if you want to share. I assume it was about asking for God's protection?” Porthos asked, watching Aramis in the firelight.

“It was. For you, not for me. I hate having you out here where it might happen again,” he said softly.

“Oh Sire. You think I'm happy about you putting yourself in danger for her... again?” Porthos asked. Aramis glanced at him but there was no heat in his voice, just resignation.

“I have you with me, Porthos. I can face anything with you at my back,” Aramis replied. He leaned forwards and kissed Porthos gently.

They heard Athos and d'Artagnan approach and looked up.

“I'd like the two of you to come with me. D'Artagnan has already seen where we're going so I'd like him to stay here with the horses and we'll go,” Athos said quietly, buckling his sword belt on.

Porthos stood and did the same. Since he'd been on watch, Aramis was already wearing his but he did hook his pistol on his belt.

“Should we take a lantern?” Aramis asked.

“Hmm. Let's take it just in case but not light it. We need to be able to do this in the dark when collecting her,” Athos replied thoughtfully.

The three of them walked quietly out of the camp, bidding goodbye to d'Artagnan who watched them go. He made a sudden movement as if to follow but frowned and retreated a step, returning to the horse's side.

The Musketeers moved in silence, dropping into natural crouches as the light from the fire faded. They were lucky in that the moon was nearly full, casting enough light to see by. Porthos led them quickly to his suggested location for the horses.

Athos looked around approvingly. It was just over an hour's walk from their current camp site and it had been very smooth.

“How far is the stream?”

“Ten minutes at most,” Porthos answered, shrugging. “We could get closer but we'll have five horses and this is the last place I found large enough to mount up all five.”

“This is good. Well chosen,” he said, nodding.

They continued on, Porthos leading the way. They made almost no noise as they moved through the trees, well practised. After five minutes, Athos heard the rushing of the stream and hurried past Porthos towards the noise.

“I see what you mean,” he said quietly. “That was close enough.”

The trees were much closer together here. There was room but it would make life difficult to manoeuvre all five horses.

They moved as a unit along the line of the stream. The ground grew very rocky but, as Porthos had noted, they were smooth rocks. More like very large steps than actual jagged rocks. They were very large steps, however.

They moved on their bellies to the cliff facing overlooking the pool. Athos pointed out the metal stands, just visible in the moonlight.

“D'Artagnan and I found a large clearing over there so we assume that is where they will set up her tent and those braziers will be lit. There's a large clearing in the trees behind the tent that I would imagine is used for her carriage.”

“Where do you think the guards will be?”

“There's a small outcropping almost directly above the assumed tent location. There. Do you see?”

Aramis and Porthos both shook their heads, unable to make it out in the moonlight.

“That's where I would station guards. It's far enough away for privacy but can easily see the Duchess. Unfortunately it is closer to the Duchess than the clearing for the carriage is,” Athos said, frustration colouring his tone. “Let's move round and I'll show you where the road is.”

He glanced at Aramis but Aramis was looking over his shoulder, back the way they'd come.

“Aramis?” he prompted.

He turned back to Athos, a smile lighting up his features.

  
  


 

 

As Athos had hoped, they reached a small clearing in the forest just north of Troyes late afternoon. He and Porthos wrapped plain cloaks around them and pulled their hats down. They set off into Troyes to collect provisions, hoping to be in and out of the town before the Savoy party arrived.

Aramis was restless in the camp. He'd seen to the three horses for the evening and was now sat brooding. D'Artagnan had busied himself with clearing space for a fire, sensing Aramis' tension. After an hour, though, he ran out of things to do and had to sit down with Aramis to build the fire.

“You were avoiding me,” Aramis commented.

“I was leaving you to your thoughts,” amended d'Artagnan carefully. “You seem tense.”

“I am tense,” he replied, a bitter smile twisting his lips unpleasantly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” the Gascon asked tentatively.

“No thank you,” replied Aramis, sighing. He watched as d'Artagnan nodded and stretched his legs out in front of him. “That's an improvement,” he commented.

“What is?” d'Artagnan asked.

“In the past you would have gotten angry that I didn't answer. You have seen it as a slight against you and made reckless statements about trust,” Aramis explained, watching him.

“I think I just accept my place with you now. I'm not... I don't feel like someone is just waiting to take it from me,” d'Artagnan answered, thoughtfully.

“Is that all it is?” Aramis asked. “Time?”

D'Artagnan chuckled.

“Athos told you of the promise he had me make?”

“No, actually,” Aramis said, surprised. He'd intended to just tease d'Artagnan about being close to their taciturn friend.

“Oh. It was the night Porthos shouted at me when you two were at his place. He made me promise to stop pulling away from you all and agreed he'd stop distancing himself. Things got easier after that,” d'Artagnan explained.

Aramis frowned, trying to remember.

“The night you stayed with us? After Vadim?” he asked.

“The next night. When we both... stayed with you,” he answered, looking at the floor.

“Ah... I believe you also learned the value of physical comfort that night?” Aramis asked.

D'Artagnan looked up at him carefully and saw no hint of teasing.

“He told you?”

“I am his abat-voix,” Aramis said, lightly. “Every body needs one.”

“So... He's talked about...” d'Artagnan felt his face growing warm.

“He has revealed no details of your interactions, merely discussed his own feelings. I don't believe I am out of line in saying that whatever it is the two of you are feeling towards each other, Athos is finding it confusing. By the way you are staring so determinedly at the floor, I imagine you are as well,” Aramis said.

D'Artagnan looked up, smiling sheepishly at the kind tone.

“I am,” he confirmed. “I don't... I'm not sure I can talk about it, knowing you speak of me with him.”

“I would recommend talking it through with Athos. If not him, someone. Why not Porthos?” he suggested.

“I tried. Porthos informed me I couldn't speak to him without you.”

“Ah. You misunderstand, friend. He does not like to speak of **us** without me present. He is a very private man. I do not see any reason why he would be reluctant to listen to you, though. If it's about your own feelings, he would try and help,” Aramis explained.

“But if I need to talk through something relating to the way you are together?”

“He will likely send you to me or ask me himself and return to you with my answer, yes.”

D'Artagnan frowned.

“I understand your dismay at the inconvenience but I won't apologise for it. However much I care for you and Athos and however much I wish to see the two of you happy, I don't rearrange our relationship for anyone,” Aramis said, still smiling.

“You do for the public,” d'Artagnan pointed out.

“You chose to know about us,” Aramis said, inclining his head. “If you wish to expand your knowledge around our relationship, you accept our terms. You can, however, revoke that at any time and we will return to pretending we are simply friends.”

“Not after yesterday,” d'Artagnan snorted without thinking.

He looked up in horror, realising what he'd said and Aramis was frowning at him in confusion.

“I apologise... I'll... Let me get us a drink,” he stammered.

As he stood, he heard Aramis' laugh suddenly ring through the small clearing. He continued to laugh while d'Artagnan returned with a bottle of wine. As d'Artagnan sat down, Aramis was wiping the mirth from his eyes.

“I am so sorry, darling d'Artagnan!” he cried, still chuckling. “We thought you were asleep and that we were far enough away. I apologise!”

D'Artagnan finally chuckled with him, Aramis' shameless amusement too infectious to resist.

“You woke me up,” d'Artagnan admitted, letting himself tease Aramis slightly.

He gasped dramatically and held his hand over his heart.

“Goodness! We interrupted our Gascon's beauty sleep!”

“I thought one of you might be injured with those sounds” d'Artagnan added, still teasing.

“Yes. My Porthos does like to growl. It's such a pleasant noise though, isn't it? Did you enjoy hearing him?” Aramis asked, his voice dropping to a purr.

D'Artagnan blinked at him in shock and saw Aramis smirking.

“Now, dear friend. Don't push if you cannot take it,” Aramis said, smugly.

D'Artagnan laughed and nodded at his words, accepting their truth. A comfortable silence fell between them for a few minutes and Aramis began cleaning his firearms.

By the time he'd finished, the light was dimming as the sun prepared to set. D'Artagnan estimated the time to be about seven in the evening. He looked at Aramis and saw he'd begun to grow tense again, free of a task.

“Aramis?” he asked gently.

“I apologise. I am struggling with the idea of Porthos being in the woods at the same time as... him. If our information was incorrect and the Duke has joined her on this trip then...” Aramis trailed off, his eyes searching the trees.

“You fear more for his safety than your own?” asked d'Artagnan.

“Yes,” answered Aramis simply.

“I fear more for the three of you than myself. Athos specifically, though. I thought that was... wrong, somehow,” d'Artagnan said quietly.

“Would you jeopardise our safety or the outcome of a mission to provide unnecessary levels of protection to Athos?” Aramis asked, still looking at the trees.

D'Artagnan thought for a moment before answering.

“No. I know he can handle himself,” he said finally, satisfied it was the truth.

“Then you're fine,” Aramis said, flashing him a smile.

Another hour passed in companionable silence. As the sun began to set, Aramis rose and began pacing. D'Artagnan didn't comment just lit the fire instead, watching him.

“Aramis,” he said gently after another few minutes.

The sharp look Aramis threw his way stopped d'Artagnan speaking. Any reassurances he could give Aramis were ones he'd already thought of.

Mercifully, it was only another ten minutes before Aramis' face broke into an easy smile. D'Artagnan glanced in the direction he was looking and could just make out the movement of the trees.

As soon as Porthos and Athos broke into the clearing, Aramis strode to his lover's side. Porthos just about leapt off his horse and d'Artagnan smiled softly, watching them. There was nothing particularly romantic about their greeting. They simply clasped each other's arms and silently searched each other's faces.

Athos walked up beside d'Artagnan, his horse in tow.

“I love watching them talk without speaking,” he murmured affectionately.

  
  


  
  


  
  


D'Artagnan was humming to himself as he cooked. He could hear the sounds of his brothers' swordplay behind him. Without looking he could tell Athos was being double teamed and holding them off well.

The sound was making him itch with the urge to join in. There was nothing that made his Gascony blood sing like a good fight. It was, however, his turn to make dinner. He turned his head at the sound of Athos' grunt to find him on one knee, Porthos and Aramis grinning down at him. D'Artagnan glanced back at the pot on the fire and decided it could manage on its own for a while.

“Uh oh,” Porthos chuckled, watching their youngest rise, drawing his sword.

Aramis drew the knife from the small of his back and grinned, pointing his two blades at d'Artagnan.

“I'll take the skinny one, you take the moody one?” he asked Porthos, playfully.

“I'm not moody,” d'Artagnan replied, grinning and drawing his own knife.

“Did they just call me skinny?” Athos asked, turning to d'Artagnan.

“Are we fightin' or flirtin'?” Porthos asked, chuckling.

“Must they be exclusive concepts, mi vida?” Aramis asked.

“Now now, Aramis,” d'Artagnan said softly, the change in his tone making them all turn to look at him. “Enough talking. Let's flirt,” he said, raising his blades.

  
  


  
  


It wasn't long before the four of them were sat around the fire, still chuckling together.

“So how are we tackling the meeting tomorrow?” asked d'Artagnan, dishing out the thin stew he'd made.

“I will take Aramis while you and Porthos move our camp to the clearing he's selected. I don't wish to light a fire there, however.”

“Why not? We're far enough away and low enough behind the rocks that the light won't be seen,” d'Artagnan said.

“If they realise she's gone and come looking, they'll smell the fire. Then they'll track us,” Porthos explained.

“We have enough rations that we shouldn't need to light a fire the entire time we travel back, as long as this warm weather holds. I'm sure we will all be able to sacrifice our cloaks and the horses' blankets for the Duchess to make a bed of,” Aramis said quietly.

“We're due to meet Truyart at noon but I would like to be in town for at least an hour before. I'd also like to leave and enter the town from the South so we will leave at nine in the morning. To that end I suggest you and I take the first two watches, Aramis.” Athos said.

“Agreed,” he replied. “I'll go first, if you don't mind. Still full of energy.”

Athos nodded his head slightly in agreement.

“Truyart?” Porthos asked. He exchanged a look with Aramis.

“The scout's name,” Athos answered but Porthos made no comment.

Reckon you'll be long?” Porthos asked, his eyes still on Aramis' tense face.

“I don't expect us to be. I'm hoping we will have returned after only a few hours. As the first leg of our journey will be over night, I would like us to spend the afternoon trying to rest again,” Athos continued.

“In this heat?” Porthos grumbled.

“The benefit of not needing to light fires but to cook is paid for with our discomfort in the sun,” d'Artagnan answered, shrugging.

“How do you think the Duchess will fare riding the first leg at night?” Aramis asked.

“I think she'll be fine. We'll be walking to lessen the noise so it won't be hard going. As you pointed out, it is smooth flat terrain we know well enough now. I'm sure she will keep us informed of how she is bearing up,” Athos said quietly.

They fell silent as they finished their food and began passing around a bottle of wine. Aramis, as was his habit, began cleaning his guns again. D'Artagnan and Porthos began a game of cards while Athos sat and studied the maps in silence.

Aramis smiled as he felt Porthos' body leaning into him as the evening wore on.

“Perhaps we should get some rest?” he suggested.

He received no complaints at all and quickly the three of them settled down. Athos and d'Artagnan lay down side by side on the opposite side of the fire and Porthos chose to sleep beside Aramis, his head on the ground by Aramis' knee.

He listened to them all fall asleep one by one and rose quietly. He walked around the clearing several times and went through a demanding pattern of stretches several times. He hated that he felt so tense. Camping didn't bother him at all any more but the last time he'd come into contact with Savoy guards on a secret mission it had not ended well.

At least this time, however, there was a plan in place. Even if it was insane.

  
  


  
  


  
  


“Aramis says I need an abat-voix,” d'Artagnan blurted suddenly.

“Finally. He speaks,” Porthos said, chuckling.

They'd finished tethering the horses in the clearing and had walked together to the stream to check the area while their brothers were in Troyes. D'Artagnan had been shooting furtive looks at Porthos since the two of them had left.

D'Artagnan grinned at him.

“I was trying to find a subtle way of bringing it up,” he said, shrugging.

“Well done,” Porthos replied dryly.

D'Artagnan laughed and shrugged again.

“It's that Gascony tact,” he answered. “In all seriousness, though. Aramis recommended I find someone to discuss difficult things with. Someone who could identify with some of what I'm facing.”

Porthos grew immediately guarded.

“What are you expecting me to identify with?” he asked, warily. “You know I don't speak about Aramis without him.”

“I... I think you know Athos and I are... becoming....”

“Involved,” Porthos supplied, nodding.

“Well there is an element of... That is...”

“You've begun to answer to him the way I answer to Aramis?” Porthos asked, still wary.

“Not the same way, no. But there's an element of accountability. I know Athos has been talking about some of how he feels with Aramis. Aramis suggested I do the same with you,” d'Artagnan explained.

“Again... I don't speak of-”

“No. No, I know,” cut in d'Artagnan. “Aramis has already told me that. He said that if I was talking about how I feel, though, you might be able to offer advice, having experienced some of what I might describe.”

“And he's... OK with that?” Porthos asked sceptically.

“He did say that if I chose to ask about the two of you, to not be surprised if you referred the question to him before giving me an answer.”

Porthos' face relaxed at the knowledge Aramis was protecting him and he smiled broadly.

“So what's going on then? I'm dying to know!” he said, clapping d'Artagnan on the shoulder.

The younger man blushed slightly and smiled. They began walking back to their horses.

“Well we're becoming physically intimate. Frustratingly slowly, I might add!”

Porthos chuckled.

“You know what 'e's like about people getting close to him,” Porthos said, chuckling.

“I know. I appreciate the time to adjust in all honesty. Although not at the time,” he said, winking. “We're also becoming closer in other ways. We agreed last night to form a relationship based on... I don't know the appropriate word,” d'Artagnan mused.

“Authority?” Porthos suggested.

“Yes. That. Authority. He is developing a sense of authority over me. He doesn't expect obedience, though. Well... He does but... I can play up,” d'Artagnan said, frowning.

After a minute of silence he turned to Porthos walking beside him.

“Porthos?” he prompted.

“I can't help ya. I don't wanna talk about this other than I don't really get the idea of agreeing to submit to someone and then not doing it,” Porthos said, shrugging.

“Well it feels... playful,” d'Artagnan protested, frowning.

“Look. I can only answer my part but my agreement to Aramis isn't a game,” said Porthos, his voice flat.

“I didn't mean... he's not a game to me, Porthos,” d'Artagnan said, stopping.

“I know that, lad. I just... if Aramis wants me to help because I might identify with your feelings I don't know how to do that. Sounds like you're putting the words in but not the actions,” Porthos said, shrugging again.

D'Artagnan fell into a thoughtful silence as they walked back to the horses. Porthos moved between the three remaining horses, seeing to each in turn. He frowned seeing d'Artagnan sitting on the ground staring at the sky.

“Alright?” he asked.

“Confused,” d'Artagnan admitted.

“Sorry if I made things worse,” Porthos replied, uncertainly.

He sat opposite d'Artagnan and frowned again.

“I said much the same as you to Athos. That I had expected him to be upset by something I said. It wasn't particularly disobedient but it was... verging on it?” d'Artagnan said, throwing his hands up.

“But?” prompted Porthos.

“But he found it amusing.”

“Ok... So what's the issue?” Porthos asked, struggling to grasp.

“Well like you said... it's not a game.”

“Your relationship or mine?”

“Mine.”

“How do I know?” Porthos asked, bewildered.

They frowned at each in frustration for a moment before chuckling weakly.

“I don't think this is going to work. Sorry, lad,” Porthos said, clapping him on the shoulder and standing up.

“Who do you talk to when you want to work something out?” d'Artagnan asked.

“Aramis,” Porthos answered simply.

D'Artagnan watched Porthos move into the trees, correctly guessing he was scouting a perimeter. He sighed heavily. If he was going to make this work, he was going to have to face everything with Athos.

  
  


 

 

 

When the others arrived in the clearing, Porthos and d'Artagnan had both begun to grow restless. The fact that they knew the Duchess' party would have entered the forest was something they were conscious of. There was no reason for them to stray from the road but it didn't stop the two men keeping eyes and ears out.

Athos and Aramis slid from their horses and they touched arms with their significant others briefly. The four sat on the ground to discuss what they'd found out.

“It's just the three guards, as expected. One is very new, one is average, one is the Duke's pick and excellent. However, they expect him to stay close to her,” Aramis reported.

“So he'll be the one who might see us taking her?” D'Artagnan asked.

“Yes but it also means the less skilled men will be scouting, if anyone does at all,” Aramis replied. “She has been making very loud remarks about her privacy, making her guards stay down stairs at the inn, not even letting them stay outside her door.”

“That bodes well. If she can keep them away from the tent entrance overnight on the same grounds...” d'Artagnan commented.

“She... She has told them she wishes to swim nude and that none of the guards are permitted to see her do so. Apparently the Duke agreed to this before they left Savoy,” interjected Athos.

“So they won't be watching the waters?” Porthos asked.

“No. They will also be keeping a 'respectful' distance,” Athos replied, rolling his eyes.

“So we go ahead as planned?” asked d'Artagnan.

“Yes. The plan to extract her at midnight is still in place. She is expecting it. I suggest we watch them from as soon as night falls to ascertain where the three of them are setting up guards,” Athos confirmed, nodding.

“Did he give any indication of where they'd be setting up their guard?” Porthos asked.

“No. These three men have not been there before so have no ideas until they arrive,” Aramis answered him.

“Can this guy be trusted?” d'Artagnan asked hesitantly.

“Oh I think so. He was one of the first Musketeers,” Athos said, smirking slightly.

 

 


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time arrives to collect the Duchess from her camp.

They each managed to get about three hours sleep before night had fallen and they began to seek out the Savoy party. Athos and d'Artagnan climbed the rocks beside the stream. They had, indeed, lit the braziers. By their light and using his spyglass, Athos was pleased to see he'd been correct and they were using the raised platform he'd identified earlier.

There were only two men sat upon it, though. Athos smirked slightly to see they obediently had their backs to the Duchess' tent. He passed the spyglass to d'Artagnan and wondered how the others were getting on. He'd sent the other two, the stealthiest of the four, to scout out the area between their campsite and this line of rock. They were under strict instructions not to confront any men they came across, just to map out a pattern should they be setting patrols.

D'Artagnan nudged him and handed the glass back and Athos breathed an internal sigh of relief seeing their third man appear from behind the tent. Presumably from the clearing d'Artagnan had identified as an area to park the carriage. This man, too, sat with his back to the tent, oriented so he could see the single track approaching the site. It would appear then, they were not patrolling the area, content with how close to the Duchess their position was.

D'Artagnan and Athos lay silently on their stomachs, watching the camp, for several hours. After a couple of hours, the other two joined them.

“All set?” Athos asked.

“We're good,” confirmed Aramis.

They, too, settled down to watch the camp in silence. The three men set up a watch and, as luck would have it, their youngest, least experienced, man was on watch when it reached the appointed hour.

Aramis remained in place, arquebus in hand. The other three men separated as previously agreed. Porthos returned to the horses. Athos and d'Artagnan moved to the small area by the stream. They'd moved the smaller of the horses, the one for the Duchess, into this area, along with a spare change of clothes and a heavy blanket.

“This is madness, you know,” d'Artagnan smirked, stripping down to his shirt and small-clothes.

“Be careful,” Athos murmured softly in reply and watched him go.

  
  


  
  


D'Artagnan carefully made his way upstream. This had been Aramis' idea. Where the rocks rose around the pool, the stream didn't. They would be watching the road but not the pool. It cut a thin path between the rocks, leaving a very narrow gap between the cliffs surrounding the pool.

Reaching this gap, the cliffs tall on either side, d'Artagnan carefully felt for the dip and found it. It was sudden and unexpected. There was no gradient from shallow stream to deep pool, it just dropped like an underwater cliff edge. Silently, he submerged himself and moved forwards in the water. He glanced up and to his left, looking for Aramis who he knew was watching, but was unable to see him among the trees.

He swam across the pool, feeling terribly exposed. There was absolutely no cover here. If that guard turned... He changed direction, choosing to mount the opposite bank far back from the tent, in the darkness.

Keeping in a crouch, he moved around the side of the tent, keeping it between him and the lookouts. He heard whispered voices inside the tent and the small Duchess appeared at the tent mouth.

She looked him up and down, surprise evident on her face but the composure of the aristocracy kept her silent. She raised her eyebrow in question and d'Artagnan pointed across the pool to the gap he'd come from.

The Duchess gave him a resigned look and ducked back in the tent. Just as d'Artagnan was growing doubtful, she reappeared in a simple nightdress and, with a quick glance to her still dormant guard, she followed d'Artagnan.

He walked back to the area he'd emerged from and gestured for her to go first. D'Artagnan breathed a sigh of relief at how quietly she managed to enter the water, barely making a sound. She also appeared to be quite a strong swimmer, moving smoothly through the water.

It occurred to d'Artagnan that she was at just as much risk as they were if this went wrong so any effort she could make to be silent was of as much benefit to her. He pushed ahead of her to reach the sudden rock edge first and knelt upon it, helping her stand. With a quick look back at the unchanged camp, he gestured through the gap.

“What now?” she whispered.

D'Artagnan held a finger over his lips to her and, holding her hand, helped her negotiate the rocks and stones in the stream. There was a sudden rustling to their right and they both froze. Aramis came into view, sliding down the rocks, almost silently. He moved parallel to them, moving around the trees, continuing to climb down the rocks until he was level with them. Just as the ground levelled out, they reached the small clearing where Athos was waiting.

He bowed at their approach and quickly handed her the change of clothes they'd obtained. It was simple commoner garb but it was clean and dry. She took it without comment and the three men all turned their backs, d'Artagnan scooping up his clothes and quickly dressing.

Handing the wet garment to Athos, the Duchess looked at them all expectantly. Aramis led her horse forwards and helped her mount and then passed the blanket up to her, which she wrapped around her shoulders.

Together, they moved through the trees, still silent until they found Porthos.

“Duchess,” he said quietly, bowing.

“I cannot thank you enough, gentlemen,” she whispered.

They all bowed to her before mounting their horses.

Aramis led the way with Athos close behind. D'Artagnan rode slightly behind and to the side of the Duchess and Porthos brought up the rear.

“How long must we ride tonight?” she whispered after an hour walking.

“In all honesty, your Grace, as long as you can stand it. We wish to put as much distance as possible between us and your guards this night. We do not wish to camp with them so close,” Athos replied softly, turning in his saddle.

“Then we will press on,” she replied firmly.

Valiantly, she managed another three hours, a good ten miles, before d'Artagnan signalled to Athos that she was swaying dangerously in the saddle.

They stopped and Porthos helped her down. They quickly made a small bed for her using the horse blankets as a mattress and their four cloaks as a cover. She fell asleep almost immediately.

“I gotta say... Pretty impressed with that. S'a good fifteen miles?” Porthos said in a whisper.

“Indeed,” Aramis murmured. “Step one completed. I'll take first watch.”

They others nodded their assent and settled down on the grass to sleep. Aramis moved about the camp, silently as possible, to see to the horses. After such an easy few days, all they needed was feeding so it took him very little time.

He sat with his back against a tree, within a single leap of the Duchess and settled to keep watch.

  
  


  
  


Athos gently squeezed the Duchess' shoulder.

“Your Grace?” he murmured softly.

She woke quickly, seemingly remembering where she was immediately.

“Would eating while we walk be amenable to you, your Grace?” he asked.

“Yes. Yes, of course. Whatever you think is best. I shall tell you if things get too much,” she said, holding her hand out.

Athos helped her to her feet and helped her mount. He noticed she chose to sit side saddle today but made no comment. After about an hour, they began a light easy trot. All four men kept a close eye on her but the Duchess seemed well accustomed to the pace and kept up easily.

The day passed easily but mostly in silence. The men were too busy keeping eyes and ears open for followers to make conversation and the Duchess seemed content to simply ride, sipping water and snacking on bread and cheese when they stopped.

As evening fell, they stopped to rest the horses again.

“Would you be amenable to continuing for another couple of hours in the dark? If we are able to get another two hours riding done tonight, I believe we will be able to reach Paris after nightfall tomorrow,” asked Athos, helping her down.

“It will be a struggle, sir, but I will manage. These are some of the finest horses I have ever come across. I fear I will tire before they,” she replied, glancing at the calm animals surrounding them.

“We have specialised animals in the regiment. These have been conditioned for long journeys. We don't like to surrender our animals so we refuse to exchange them at inns,” Aramis interjected quietly from where he stood, stroking the neck of her horse.

“They are Musketeers,” she said, looking away from Aramis.

  
  


The following day continued much in the same way. Naturally quiet but excellent progress being made. Athos' prediction was correct and they arrived in the city shortly after midnight the following day. They escorted her to the Cardinal's office, leaving her in his hands.

Captain Tréville was waiting for them in the yard, having received word they had returned.

“Things are... OK?” he asked carefully.

“Yes Captain. We will be leaving Paris at sunset, two days from now,” Athos confirmed.

“Should I meet you here in the morning?” asked d'Artagnan, picking up his bag.

Athos shot him a sharp look.

“Secrecy,” he said softly.

D'Artagnan opened his mouth to reply but shut it again, frowning deeply.

“Perhaps we should stay together at our home to avoid being seen?” suggested Aramis, collecting the last of his belongings from the horses.

“Indeed,” murmured Athos.

They moved quickly and quietly to Aramis and Porthos' apartments. All four of them quickly murmured good nights to each other and went straight to bed.

 


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The four men wake up for their day off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut. Lots of smut.

Aramis stretched luxuriously. It was always nice waking up in his own bed after being out of town. As he arched his back, feeling the muscles stretch with him, he felt Porthos stirring behind him, the arm around his waist tightening.

“Mmm. Morning' Sire,” Porthos murmured. Aramis felt him bury his face in his dark waves, inhaling deeply.

“Morning, mi vida,” Aramis replied, stifling a yawn.

“Not getting up, yet?” Porthos asked hopefully, pulling Aramis' back flush against him.

“Not yet,” agreed Aramis, snuggling into Porthos' embrace.

 

 

 

Next door, d'Artagnan had woken up in a similar position. Athos' arms were tightly wrapped around him. The bed they shared was much smaller, forcing them to lay much closer together.

D'Artagnan, however, was trying not to move in the slightest. One reason was that he didn't wish to disturb the still sleeping Athos but the other reason was that a particular part of Athos was already awake and was pressing into d'Artagnan's buttock through their small-clothes.

He forced himself to take some deep breaths and settled back down so he didn't wake the rest of Athos. After only a few moments, though, he felt Athos burying his face into the back of his hair.

“Mmmm,” Athos murmured, tightening his arms around d'Artagnan.

“Good morning,” d'Artagnan replied, relaxing instantly.

His hands rested lightly on Athos' arms and he smiled. However nervous he felt about being back in bed with a somewhat aroused man, it all slipped away when he was reminded it was Athos.

“Agreed,” Athos whispered.

His voice was still thick with sleep and d'Artagnan attempted to turn over.

“Still, puppy,” grumbled Athos.

“Just want to turn over, Sir,” d'Artagnan whispered.

D'Artagnan felt the arms relax slightly and he quickly turned over, nestling against Athos' bare chest. As soon as he stopped moving, the arms tightened around him again.

He leaned his head back slightly to look at Athos and couldn't stop himself smiling. Athos' eyes were still closed and all the frown lines he wore on duty had smoothed out. He was his pure handsome self. D'Artagnan watched him silently for a few minutes before Athos' moustache twitched, his lips lifting into that small smile.

“I can feel you watching me,” he said softly.

“I like watching you.”

“I like watching you too,” Athos replied.

“Your eyes are closed,” d'Artagnan said, chuckling softly.

“I'm tired,” Athos said, by way of explanation.

“And I'm watching you,” d'Artagnan teased.

“What are you watching for?” Athos asked, his eyes still closed, lips still smiling.

“Self-indulgence.”

At this Athos actually chuckled slightly and forced one eye open.

“I like waking up with you in my arms,” he whispered.

“I like it too,” d'Artagnan said, smiling.

There was something d'Artagnan couldn't identify in Athos' expression when he finally opened both eyes. He looked into the piercing blue pools and tried to work it out.

“You seem puzzled,” Athos said, raising an eyebrow.

“You seem... I don't know. You are inscrutable,” d'Artagnan said thoughtfully. He smiled and dipped his head to nuzzle against Athos' chest.

Athos began running his hand up and down the smooth Gascony skin. He sighed contentedly. It had been a stressful few days getting to Bourbon-Les-Eaux and back. He knew it was going to be even more stressful for them on the return journey. If their deception had been discovered, God only knows what could be waiting for them.

He forced his mind away from such things. The Duchess had confirmed they would ride out at sunset tomorrow giving the four of them all day today and all of tonight to rest and recuperate before they'd need to start thinking about naps for the afternoon. Maybe if they stayed up later tonight they'd be sleepy enough to rest earlier. They would need to eat, pack the horses, mount up and meet the Duchess at the palace at sunset. Would she have slept much in the afternoon, though? Was it worth making the four of them spend their afternoon trying to sleep if the Duchess is just going to need to stop overnight?

Athos took a deep breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth. He tried, again, to force his mind away from work. He was determined to enjoy their day off. He glanced down at d'Artagnan to see if he was asleep but couldn't tell.

He smoothed his had down the line of d'Artagnan's spine and rested it on the small of his back. The small shiver down his body made Athos smirk. Not asleep.

“D'Artagnan?” he asked softly.

“Mmm?” the younger man asked, drowsily.

“I would still like to kiss you,” Athos murmured, stroking his thumb against d'Artagnan's tail bone.

D'Artagnan lifted his head to look at Athos and the older man had to stifle a chuckle, seeing the glee on his face.

“How do you feel about that?” Athos asked, softly.

D'Artagnan smiled and took a breath. He nodded much more calmly than he felt.

“I would also very much like that,” he answered, the barely suppressed excitement audible in his voice.

Athos trailed his hand back up to d'Artagnan's shoulder and brushed the hair off his shoulder.

“You're not as shy or easily overwhelmed any more,” he commented.

“I think it's just taken me some time to get used to it,” d'Artagnan answered, gazing up at Athos. “The breathing helps. It's like feeling your hand on me, calming me.”

Athos smiled softly.

“That was my intention,” he said quietly. He ran his fingers through d'Artagnan's hair, watching the dark strands part between his digits. “How did your talk with Porthos go?”

“Porthos?”

“I'm Athos,” he teased.

D'Artagnan chuckled and tucked his head against Athos' chest again.

“It didn't go very well. He said that what we want is too different from what they have for him to relate to it,” d'Artagnan said honestly.

Athos was silent for a few minutes and d'Artagnan simply nuzzled against him, enjoying the closeness.

“I don't understand,” Athos murmured.

“Well I mentioned that authority is part of what we're building and he asked if we were like him and Aramis. I tried to talk about how we're different and that I can... play up. He just... shut down,” d'Artagnan answered, the frown evident in his voice.

“Did he upset you?” Athos asked, stroking his hair.

“No. Just confused me. I don't think he's going to open up about his own relationship, which makes it hard for me to apply it to my own feelings. I also don't think he's the type of man that will make me see things, which I imagine Aramis does for you,” d'Artagnan mused.

Athos smiled, watching d'Artagnan nuzzle into his hand without realising.

“What do you plan to do?” Athos asked.

“I think I need to talk to you when I'm struggling. You make it so much easier to focus and you force my mind to see the truth of things,” d'Artagnan answered.

“Are you struggling now?” Athos asked, curiously.

“No,” d'Artagnan replied. “Yes,” he added.

“What with?” Athos used his gentle grip on d'Artagnan's hair to guide his head back. He gazed patiently at the younger man.

“I'm still struggling to reconcile the idea of answering to you but not being expected to do as you say,” d'Artagnan answered.

“I ask again. Is that what you want?” Athos asked, curiously. He resumed stroking d'Artagnan's hair while they looked at each other.

“I still don't really know. What do you think?”

“In all honesty, I don't think so. I think your playfulness and your rebellion are part of you. I think... I have seen Porthos kneel for Aramis and it's what he's made for. It's... It is his truest self. I think when I see your mischievous smile and hear your teasing comments, it's your truest self,” Athos said quietly.

D'Artagnan watched the light smile on Athos' face, thoughtfully.

“You don't think so?” Athos prompted.

“I want to impress you. I like to know that I'm doing the right thing,” d'Artagnan said, frowning.

Athos toyed with some of d'Artagnan's hair distractedly and felt him nuzzle close against his chest again.

“Truest self, my young fiery Gascon,” he murmured.

“How do I know what that is?” d'Artagnan asked.

“What makes you feel the most engaged and authentic? The idea of willingly following me and living life framed by my rules or the idea of kept in line by a tug on the leash or needing me to take a hand to your backside on occasion?” Athos asked, his voice soft.

D'Artagnan's mouth dropped open in shock. Athos continued to toy with a lock of the dark hair.

“The latter two,” d'Artagnan chuckled against his chest.

After a few seconds, Athos was pleasantly surprised to feel d'Artagnan's lips brushing against his chest. Again, Athos tugged slightly on his hair to guide his head back to see him.

D'Artagnan smiled and found his eyes kept drifting to those soft lips, finding himself captivated by the small lift on one side. It was that tiny lift that turned his normally stern face into a warm, friendly smile.

There was a quiet intensity in the blue eyes that d'Artagnan hadn't seen before. He'd seen the light of battle in them plenty of times but this was a new hunger. He found himself suddenly shy but concentrated for a moment to swallow his nerves. This was only Athos.

The blue eyes watched the brown calmly. Their previous intimate relations had been heat of the moment encounters. Athos was determined to keep this calm and controlled. He watched d'Artagnan calm himself down and the slightly arrogant smirk curl his lips.

“Kiss me?” Athos whispered, making sure his tone clearly indicated it was a request.

D'Artagnan closed his eyes and, without hesitating, gently pressed his lips against Athos'. They both held still for a moment before slowly drawing apart. They each gazed at the other and Athos saw tiny frown lines on his handsome face.

“OK?” he asked in a whisper.

“Oh yes,” d'Artagnan breathed. “Just making sure you are, too.”

Athos smiled softly and dipped his head, catching d'Artagnan's mouth more firmly. He felt the soft lips respond immediately, pressing against his own.

Their gazes were not so steady this time when they parted. Athos' eyes seemed to have darkened as they kept darting between d'Artagnan's lips and his slightly flushed cheeks.

“Still with me?” he asked, forcing his voice to stay calm.

“Most definitely,” the younger man replied, an enticing gleam in his eye.

Athos smirked and their lips met again. He was pleasantly surprised to feel the Gascon's lips beginning to move slowly. He felt his morning affliction returning as d'Artagnan moved the kiss beyond something chaste. Rapidly he felt conscious thought slipping away as his own mouth moved with him, exploring his lips with own.

D'Artagnan shivered slightly feeling Athos responding. He could feel blood pounding in his ears and his hands came up to Athos' chest, stroking the skin gently.

Athos lifted his head away, breaking the kiss. He smiled indulgently at the playful pout on d'Artagnan's face.

“Enough,” he murmured “We're taking this slow, remember?”

“I remember but...” d'Artagnan said, trailing off.

“But?” asked Athos, amused.

In answer d'Artagnan simply flexed his hips, pressing his own arousal into Athos'. The Musketeer chuckled and brought his hand up to stroke d'Artagnan's hair again.

“Slow,” Athos said quietly.

“You promised,” d'Artagnan whispered mischievously.

“Oh?”

“That if I was good, you'd give me a reward,” d'Artagnan reminded him.

“I don't remember that being a promise.”

“The words came out of your mouth... You honour your word, right?” he said, slyly.

“Do you think you were good?” Athos asked, toying with d'Artagnan's hair again.

“Do you?” d'Artagnan asked immediately.

“I asked first.”

“Hmm. I think so, yes,” he replied firmly. “Besides, there was something else you suggested if I wasn't,” he added smugly.

“Ah yes,” murmured Athos thoughtfully.

He leaned away from d'Artagnan and smiled at the ceiling. D'Artagnan chuckled and leaned forwards, following him to press himself against Athos' body, his face nuzzling against his chest.

“Well, I suppose you were very diligent with the horses,” Athos mused quietly. His hands began trailing up and down d'Artagnan's back. “There was, however, that moment when you tried to stay up past your bedtime,” he added, his voice dropping.

D'Artagnan didn't reply. He could feel his pulse quickening, his breath becoming more shallow. He honestly had no idea what he wanted and was finding it quite thrilling not to know what, if anything, Athos would choose.

“Will you be able to stay quiet?” Athos asked, his hands growing less calm on d'Artagnan's back as they stroked him quicker.

“I think so,” he whispered.

“What do you think would be the right course of action?” Athos asked.

D'Artagnan flexed his hips, pressing the two of them together and Athos chuckled in reply.

“Sit up,” Athos said quietly.

After a little bit of readjusting, Athos settled with his back against the wall and pulled d'Artagnan between his legs so his back was resting against Athos' chest.

Athos leaned his chin on d'Artagnan's shoulder and nuzzled his nose into the side of his neck. He breathed him in and sighed contentedly.

“I look forwards to the day I have you alone in my lodgings,” he murmured. He wrapped his arms around the slender body, one around his stomach and one around his chest.

D'Artagnan shivered, the breath passing across his ear.

“I still have a dilemma,” he continued. “What to do? Do I reward my lovely boy for being so good or do I show him the error of his ways for trying to defy me?”

D'Artagnan smiled and dropped his head back to try and nuzzle Athos. He gasped in surprise as Athos' lips passed across his exposed throat, not quite kissing him.

“Perhaps something between the two?” Athos whispered, the arm around d'Artagnan's chest loosening and his hand beginning to stroke the smooth skin lightly. “What do you think?”

“I... I don't understand,” d'Artagnan whispered.

“Don't you?” Athos asked.

His hand ran lightly across d'Artagnan's sensitive nipples, his fingertips teasing them into hard points without grasping. Athos chuckled as d'Artagnan gasped each time.

“You don't understand a way that I could give you something nice and rewarding and yet sharp enough to make my point?” he murmured.

His fingers caught one hard nub and rolled it between his finger and thumb. D'Artagnan squirmed in his arms and chuckled slightly.

“I think I understand now,” he whispered.

“Indeed?” Athos said softly, nuzzling into the side of d'Artagnan's slender neck.

He continued to gently pinch d'Artagnan's nipple while his other hand began to stroke across his stomach, trailing lower to run his fingers across d'Artagnan' groin. The younger man's breath caught in his throat and his hips bucked, seeking more contact with Athos' fingers. The Musketeer smiled against d'Artagnan's throat and moved up to nuzzle into his ear. Athos' fingers easily found d'Artagnan's member through the fabric, their closeness having the desired effect.

He pinched slightly harder and heard d'Artagnan gasp. He kept the pressure on as the fingers on his other hand gently wrapped around the line of d'Artagnan through his small-clothes.

“Stay quiet, my lovely boy. Unless you want them to hear you like you heard them,” Athos whispered.

“Yes Papa,” d'Artagnan murmured.

Athos released the nipple in his fingers and used both hands to gently unlace d'Artagnan's braies. He felt the body in his arms beginning to tremble as Athos gently took him in his hand and drew him slowly out of his clothes. He released d'Artagnan and moved both of his hands up to smooth across his chest.

D'Artagnan was growing desperate. He'd discovered early that slight pain when he took himself in hand made him crazy but Athos' slow teasing was driving him wild. He could feel himself throbbing, the semi hard member against his leg aching to be touched. Every time Athos' hands brushed across his hard nipples felt like a shock to his groin and he arched into his touch.

Athos closed his fingers around d'Artagnan's nipples and rolled them again, drawing a frustrated groan from him.

“Papa,” he pleaded.

“Yes?” Athos asked, slowly.

“Please.”

“Please what? This isn't nice?” Athos asked, slyly.

He was keeping the pressure gentle, rolling the sensitive tips lightly, making sure it didn't hurt.

“Oh yes,” d'Artagnan whispered, squirming in his arms again.

“Then what's the problem?” he murmured, nibbling gently on d'Artagnan's ear.

“I... You...” he trailed off, chuckling desperately.

“Yeeees?” Athos asked.

“You wanted to make a point,” d'Artagnan answered, the smile back in his voice.

“So I did. Why was that?” he answered.

“I don't remember,” teased d'Artagnan, pressing his chest into Athos' hands.

Athos chuckled darkly and removed his hands.

“You don't seem contrite. Perhaps there is little point in continuing. If it's not going to help...”

D'Artagnan whimpered softly and tried to tug Athos' hands away from his thighs.

“Please,” he whispered, all trace of arrogance gone.

“Please what?” asked Athos sharply.

D'Artagnan flinched at the stern note to his voice. He felt himself shrink, remembering with a flush to his cheeks how much he desired Athos' correction. Athos felt d'Artagnan sink back against him and began to stroke his arms gently.

“Please what?” Athos repeated.

“Please punish me Papa,” d'Artagnan whispered, turning his face towards him.

Athos kissed him gently, resting his hand against d'Artagnan's cheek. He released his lips, stroking his face with his thumb.

“That's right. Naughty boy,” he whispered.

Without warning Athos pinched d'Artagnan's nipples, cruelly twisting slightly until he gasped in pain. He let go and stroked them slightly as d'Artagnan relaxed against him, shuddering.

“Is that what you need?” Athos murmured.

“Yes Papa,” whispered d'Artagnan.

Athos nodded approvingly and closed his fingers around d'Artagnan's nipples again, slowly pinching them. He gradually increased the pressure, listening to the Gascon's breathing to find the point where it crossed the line into pain. He found his earlier suspicions about d'Artagnan enjoying pain were correct when his hips suddenly flexed.

“Oh...” Athos breathed into his ear.

He released his hold on one nipple and wrapped it around d'Artagnan's length, feeling him reach full hardness almost the second he touched him.

“Papa,” gasped d'Artagnan.

“Dirty boy,” Athos moaned softly, stroking him from top to bottom and continuing the painful pressure on his nipple.

“Yes Papa,” d'Artagnan whispered.

Athos continued to nuzzle into d'Artagnan's ear, nibbling slightly, as his fingers released his nipple, rolling the sensitive flesh. He began long leisurely strokes along d'Artagnan's cock, playfully squeezing and releasing the nipple still between his fingertips.

D'Artagnan felt himself totally lost in sensation. There were white hot shocks of desire running from every touch of Athos' fingers directly to his cock where his other hand felt like absolute magic on him.

Athos abruptly let go of his chest and unlaced his own braies, pulling his own cock free. He heard d'Artagnan moan and then squirm as he realised Athos had pressed his cock against the small of his back.

“See the effect you have on me?” he whispered into d'Artagnan's ear.

Athos moved his hands back to their previous locations, one on his chest, manipulating the sensitive nubs, making sure each pinch crossed the line into pain. D'Artagnan's hips began to move against Athos' hand, thrusting into the firm, sure movements. The older man began to move his own hips, thrusting against d'Artagnan's back.

“Oh Papa,” breathed d'Artagnan. “Please.”

“What is it my dirty little boy wants?” whispered Athos, his breathing ragged as he felt himself spiralling towards release.

“Please punish me,” he gasped, the movement of his hips becoming erratic.

Athos groaned softly and cruelly twisted the nipple in his fingers. He felt d'Artagnan's breath catch as the pain went rushing through his chest and straight to his cock. Athos felt his own groin tighten and twisted even harder, making d'Artagnan cry out as he began to spend into Athos' hand.

He buried his own face into the curve of d'Artagnan's neck and shoulder as he found his own release against the small of d'Artagnan's back. Athos gave several small thrusts against the warm skin, releasing his fingers from d'Artagnan's nipple but keeping his grasp on his member steady as they both felt their orgasms wash over them.

  
  


  
  


  
  


“Was that what I think it was?” Porthos asked, sleepily.

Aramis chuckled and nodded against his chest.

The pair had been lightly dozing since waking up earlier. Porthos was sprawled on his back with Aramis draped across him, listening to his heart beat.

“It appears d'Artagnan has finally broken our Athos' defences,” Aramis whispered.

“You aren't going to let me tease them, are you?” Porthos grumbled.

“I might do. He teased me about hearing us in the woods that night,” Aramis mused.

“He did?”

“Mhmm. Although a single well placed remark was enough to stop him in his tracks,” he replied smugly.

“What did you say to him?” Porthos chuckled, running his hand over Aramis' bare back.

“I asked him if he enjoyed listening and the lad turned red as the Cardinal's cloak.”

Porthos chuckled again and stretched.

“We should get up, Sire. It must be getting late.”

“It's our day of rest, mi vida,” Aramis answered shrugging. He, too, stretched, rubbing himself against Porthos' side like a cat.

“Do that again and they might hear us too,” Porthos warned, feeling the muscles on Aramis' back ripple under his hand.

“Mmm. Does that mean you've woken up like I have?” Aramis asked.

“I hadn't. With you writhing like that I am now,” Porthos chuckled.

Aramis tipped his head and gave Porthos a devastating smile as he withdrew the arm draped across Porthos' stomach so his hand could travel under the sheet towards Porthos' pelvis.

“Sire,” Porthos protested weakly.

“You'll just have to stay quiet, beautiful boy,” Aramis murmured, his long fingers finding their goal and trailing along Porthos' length.

Porthos chuckled lightly and tugged insistently at Aramis' dark hair, pulling him up to kiss him hungrily. Aramis moaned softly against Porthos' mouth and felt his lover smile.

“Mhmm, I need to stay quiet too?” Aramis whispered.

Porthos didn't answer and just kissed him harder, his tongue swiping across Aramis' soft lips, seeking entrance. As Aramis sighed, Porthos took advantage and deepened the kiss, his free arm coming up to Aramis' hip and holding him tightly.

“Porthos,” Aramis whispered urgently.

He suddenly threw the sheet off them both and smoothly slid onto Porthos' body, settling their slowly hardening cocks against each other. Porthos growled in appreciation of the change in position and pulled Aramis back down for another kiss.

Aramis braced his weight on one hand, the other snaking between their bodies. He deftly gathered the moisture from the head of each of their now hard cocks and used it to moisten their members, letting them move smoothly against each other.

Porthos' breath caught in his throat as Aramis removed his hand, leaving their cocks to rub against one another. The heat coming off Aramis' skin against his own was unbelievable and he ran his hands restlessly over Aramis' smooth skin.

“Love you, Sire,” gasped Porthos.

“Love you too, my boy,” murmured Aramis, beginning to thrust himself regularly against Porthos.

“God,” Porthos groaned, forcing himself to whisper.

“Sire will do fine,” smirked Aramis.

He dipped his head to claim Porthos' mouth in a searing kiss. The passion and heat in it took the darker man's breath away as he passively granted Aramis' demanding tongue entrance.

Porthos began to raise his hips to meet Aramis' thrusts, causing the slender body on top of his own to shudder. Porthos growled, feeling Aramis bite his lip suddenly.

“Fuck,” Porthos swore.

“Shh,” Aramis whispered.

“You bit me,” gasped Porthos as Aramis' hips continued to move, the fluid steadily leaking from them both making their movements smooth.

“I had to stop myself moaning,” Aramis whispered. “It was my lip or yours. I assumed you would make the sacrifice.”

Porthos chuckled and gripped Aramis' hips, keeping him in place. He felt a shock of desire through him as Aramis tossed his head back, pure bliss on his face.

“You're so beautiful mi sol,” breathed Porthos in awe.

“You complete me, mi vida” answered Aramis in a whisper, locking eyes with Porthos.

They both began to pant, each staring into the other's eyes. Porthos' grip on Aramis' hips increased just as Aramis began to quicken his thrusts, forcing their cocks to move against each other faster.

“Oh Sire,” groaned Porthos, struggling to stay quiet.

Aramis stared down intensely into the brown eyes below him and felt the broad hands on his slender hips gripping even tighter. He knew he'd have bruises.

Porthos bit his lip, swallowing the growl building in his chest as he felt his orgasm approaching. Aramis' eyes were almost black, clearly close himself. Porthos let the question form in his eyes.

Aramis shifted his weight again, keeping his eye contact with Porthos steady, and returned his hand to their hard cocks, frantically moving against each other. His long nimble fingers wrapped around Porthos' length, catching most of his own in his grasp.

“My own, my boy,” Aramis whispered.

“Yours, Sire,” growled Porthos, struggling to stay quiet.

“Release for me,” Aramis breathed.

Porthos found the intensity in Aramis' eyes almost painful and it felt as if every single tremor brought on from the powerful orgasm ripping through him was pulled out through his eyes into Aramis.

For his part, as he found release against Porthos' thick member, Aramis was basking in the adoration in his lover's warm gaze. His entire world was in those eyes and he would be lost without them.

They continued to gaze at each other, watching each other's bodies shudder and tremble as each man's orgasm began to fade.

Finally, Aramis broke their sustained, intense eye contact when his arm gave out, forcing him to collapse against Porthos' chest.

They both laughed, vibrating against one another. Their lips met for a slow, languid kiss. Their murmured admissions of love were swallowed in repeated kisses, nuzzling against each other, murmuring happily.

Porthos reached up above them for the cloth kept on their headboard and rolled to his side, laying the boneless Aramis on his back. He gently cleaned up the mess on each of their stomachs.

“Your lip is bleeding,” Aramis said softly, watching him.

“It's not mine,” Porthos replied, amused.

Aramis frowned. He was stretched out luxuriously, waiting for Porthos to join him again.

Porthos replaced the cloth and shuffled back down so he was on his side facing Aramis. He ran his thumb over Aramis' lip and held it up to him.

“You bit your lip a bit too hard as well, Sire,” Porthos explained, smirking slightly.

Aramis laughed and reached for him, smiling peacefully as Porthos gathered him into his arms.

“Nap?” suggested Aramis.

“Well is **is** a rest day,” Porthos murmured.

 


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The four Inseparables spend a day resting before setting out again

“What is it?” asked Athos, peering over his book. D'Artagnan was going through their daily stretches for the third time.

“Nothing,” d'Artagnan answered without looking at him. Athos frowned slightly.

They were interrupted by Aramis and Porthos finally emerging from their bedroom in search of food. By now, it was midday and the other two had been up for three hours.

Athos watched them trail to the kitchen, Aramis stretching as he walked. He peered at d'Artagnan.

“D'Artagnan?” Athos prompted softly.

The Gascon dropped onto the sofa beside Athos and sighed deeply.

“I'm... Doesn't matter,” d'Artagnan mumbled.

“Joining us for lunch?” Aramis called to them as they carried some food to the table.

“We ate when we got up. Hours ago. Some of us do actually get up in the mornings,” d'Artagnan replied, smirking.

Aramis laughed lightly and caught Porthos' eye. They grinned unselfconsciously at one another.

There was a sudden knock on the door and Porthos stood, his eyes sweeping their lodgings as was their habit. Seeing no errant clothes or evidence of intimacy, he moved to answer the door.

“Captain,” said Athos softly, standing as Porthos admitted Tréville into the room.

The five of them settled around the battered table and Athos updated him on their journey while Porthos and Aramis ate.

“You're positive you weren't seen?” Tréville asked.

“As positive as we can ever be,” Athos answered. “Do you have any knowledge otherwise?”

“No. We intercepted a despatch rider who was carrying one of the Duchess' prepared letters so our information shows they still believe she remains in Bourbon-Les-Eaux,” Tréville answered calmly.

“Has the Duke left Savoy yet?” Aramis asked.

“Not that we know of. He is, however, expected to leave Chambéry the day after tomorrow. The morning after you leave Paris. He shouldn't reach Troyes until after you have left her at the waters.”

“That's still close,” Porthos murmured. “We can't leave tonight?”

Tréville rolled his eyes.

“The King wants more time with his sister. I think the Duchess would be happy to leave since she's being forced to stay hidden but... Well... The King wants more time with her,” Tréville sighed.

“She will be ready to leave tomorrow night, won't she?” asked Athos warily. “He won't convince her to stay longer?”

“On this occasion I think we can be grateful for the Cardinal's ability to convince the King of a particular course. He, like us, doesn't want her in Paris longer than necessary.”

“Why not? I thought she had so much valuable information,” put in d'Artagnan.

“She carries so much risk. Having her here risks the treaty he fought so hard to get the Duke to sign. Tearing that treaty up, which Savoy would do should she be discovered, would give the Spanish an ally on the border. The south of France would be flanked by Savoy on one side and Spain on the other,” the Captain explained.

D'Artagnan nodded in understanding.

“Do you know if she will be in a fit state to ride for long after we collect her?” Athos asked. Tréville glanced at him in confusion. “If she does not intend to rest tomorrow in preparation for night riding, there is no point us doing so,” he explained.

“I will try and encourage it,” the Captain replied. “I would not, however, count on it.”

Athos nodded.

“You have your route set?” Tréville asked.

“I think it best we do not share it, Captain. You told us you needed to be far from this mission,” Athos reminded him gently.

“Indeed,” he said, standing. “You've done good work, gentlemen. I hope your, our, luck holds.”

“Good afternoon, Captain,” Porthos said quietly, nodding at him. Aramis nodded at him as well. D'Artagnan smiled at him and raised his hand.

Athos walked with Tréville to the door.

“We'll collect her in the same place after sunset. Please try and get them to let her rest. Perhaps her insistence on sleeping would help the King see how little fun it is having her around?” Athos suggested quietly.

Captain Tréville nodded and clapped Athos on the shoulder.

“Look after them and yourself, Athos,” he said quietly, replacing his hat and taking his leave.

  


  


  


“So what do we do now?” asked Porthos, looking around.

“I assume we're still expected to stay out of sight. That restricts us somewhat,” Aramis said, frowning.

“Well we need to something to keep the two of you out of bed,” d'Artagnan teased lightly.

“Careful now, lad,” smirked Porthos.

Athos smiled thoughtfully.

“Your landlord is away?” Athos asked.

“He is,” nodded Aramis.

“Perhaps we could move the furniture to the sides and spar?” he suggested.

“Suppose there should be some loud noises for a more wholesome reason,” d'Artagnan interjected, smirking again.

“Careful,” Aramis murmured, repeating Porthos' warning.

D'Artagnan just grinned at the pair.

They moved the furniture easily, creating a wide space where the dining table normally stood. The locations of the candle sconces meant swords were out so they chose to practice hand to hand combat, using their daggers at close range.

After a couple of hours the four of them were feeling much better. It was surprising how quickly their muscles lost their flexibility. A week of riding and camping and they could already feel the difference.

Athos and Aramis were leaning against the wall watching Porthos teach d'Artagnan a new way of disarming a dagger from behind.

“Everything good with you two?” Aramis asked quietly.

Athos smiled at him and nodded. Aramis beamed. It was so nice to see their friend happy.

As Aramis moved away, however, Athos frowned.

  


  


  


They ate dinner that night on the floor. The chairs and sofa were still piled up against the wall so the four of them settled on the rug together. After they finished, Aramis stretched himself out on his back with a book of poetry and rested his head in Porthos' lap while the larger man engaged d'Artagnan in a game of cards.

Athos returned to the book he'd been reading earlier, sitting slightly behind d'Artagnan with his back against the stacked furniture.

They passed the evening comfortably. Aramis moved over to light the fire and returned to Porthos' side, smiling when he raised his arm to welcome him. Athos watched him settle against Porthos' side and caught d'Artagnan's eye. They shared a small smile and Athos turned back to his book.

“What did you decide about sleeping, Athos?” Aramis asked.

“If at all possible I would like to put as much distance as possible between ourselves and Paris. I have been toying with the idea of continuing to walk if the Duchess is able to sleep on horseback,” he answered quietly.

“You mean for her to ride with one of us so she could rest while we ride?” d'Artagnan asked in surprise.

“If she's amenable, yes. Even in the best case scenario and she is well rested when we collect her, she is still not accustomed to riding at night. While she did continue into the dark with us on our return journey, that is entirely different to riding through the night and into the morning,” Athos explained, turning to look at him.

“If she doesn't agree?” Porthos asked, gruffly.

“Then we make it as far as we can before she needs to stop,” Aramis answered. Athos nodded at them both. “So what did you decide about our sleeping? Is it worth us sleeping in the day tomorrow if we're only going to be stopping at midnight?” Aramis asked again.

“Like anyone can sleep in a house with you two,” smirked d'Artagnan without looking up.

Aramis raised his eyebrow, not at d'Artagnan but at Athos, who inclined his head slightly, a small smile playing at his lips.

“Indeed, our young friend. We, ourselves were woken up this morning by the cries of passion from what I can only guess was yourself or Athos has taken a maiden to bed we don't know about,” Aramis said lightly.

D'Artagnan's head snapped up and he stared at the two of them in stunned silence for several long seconds. He turned round suddenly to look at Athos for help. When none came he turned back to Porthos and Aramis.

“I warned you that if you couldn't take it, not to push it. Let's just say you found the line,” Aramis said kindly.

D'Artagnan searched their grinning faces for a moment and found no trace of malice in either. He felt Athos' fingertips on the small of his back and he relaxed, nodding at them both.

“I guess I deserved that,” he admitted, smiling.

“So let's say a normal night's sleep and in the morning we will train. If we're able to then rest in the afternoon, all the better,” Athos said.

“Can I ask a question first?” d'Artagnan said, turning his head to glance at Athos.

“Of course,” Athos answered carefully.

“The three of you have been intimate?” he asked.

“We have,” Aramis answered.

Athos gave him a meaningful glance over d'Artagnan's head and Aramis shrugged, curling into Porthos' side again.

D'Artagnan shifted so he was sat beside Athos and could still see the other two.

“It's just... physical?”

“Yes,” Athos answered calmly.

“To what extent...” d'Artagnan trailed off, unsure how to go from here.

“Perhaps this conversation would be easier if it was just the two of us?” Athos asked gently.

“I don't wish to discuss details of anyone's private lives behind their backs,” d'Artagnan said slowly, looking between the three of them.

“Do you have any questions specifically about the two of us that are not in direct relation to Athos?” Aramis asked.

When d'Artagnan shook his head, Aramis stood, pulling Porthos to his feet.

“Consider this our permission to ask Athos anything you wish about our time together. We trust him,” he said.

Athos nodded at them from his place on the floor, grateful for the time alone with d'Artagnan while talking about such a sensitive subject.

“Just...” Porthos hesitated and looked pleadingly at Aramis.

“Athos knows how much to share and how much not to, mi vida,” Aramis said, touching his arm.

Porthos frowned and nodded, dropping his eyes to the floor. He let Aramis lead him to the bedroom, leaving d'Artagnan and Athos alone on the floor.

“What do you want to know?” Athos asked quietly. “I will answer as much as I can as fully as I can,” he added when d'Artagnan didn't reply.

“What... What do you do together?” d'Artagnan asked, blushing furiously.

“I enjoy the closeness and the release that only an intimate physical connection can provide. We have been fully physically intimate. I have not, however, taken either of them in that way and Porthos has not done so with me, either,” Athos answered calmly.

“But Aramis...”

“Aramis and I have been together that way, yes.”

“Just you and he... You two... you have...” d'Artagnan took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

“I have never spent time with either of them separately. As you have seen, they operate as one unit,” Athos answered honestly. “I do not have a physical relationship with one person. They welcome me into their bed as a third.”

He watched d'Artagnan beginning to panic and wasn't sure what to do. He wanted very much to reach out and comfort him but given the nature of their conversation was unsure if physical touches would be welcome.

“So you... you are...” he trailed off.

“Breathe puppy,” Athos whispered.

D'Artagnan forced himself to slow his breathing the way Athos had shown him but couldn't yet bring himself to look at him.

“You're the only man I've ever had these feelings for,” he said quietly. “I'm slightly intimidated by the knowledge that you're... more experienced.”

Athos tilted his head slightly and smiled.

“D'Artagnan. You are the first man I have ever been in an actual relationship with. They are the only other men I have been with at all,” Athos answered. He watched d'Artagnan carefully in the silence that followed his statement. “I apologise. I didn't realise this was bothering you,” he murmured softly.

“Nor did I,” d'Artagnan admitted without looking up. “I think it's why I was so... Why I teased them so much. The idea... Knowing... They they... You...”

“Shh,” soothed Athos. He reached out and touched d'Artagnan's knee briefly before withdrawing his hand. “We don't have to talk about this now.”

“I'm jealous,” d'Artagnan blurted suddenly.

“Of what, specifically?” Athos asked curiously. “Of the bond I share with them that makes us so close?”

“No,” d'Artagnan whispered.

“Do you **know** what it is?” Athos pressed.

The younger man closed his eyes and nodded.

“Would you try and talk about it with me?” Athos asked softly.

“You've... You've shared so much with them but... with me...” he trailed off.

“I want something more with you. They and I shared a many year long friendship that was able to support the addition of a sexual element. They meet physical desires. With you I want an emotional bond that fuels our physical relations instead. I wish for our emotional bond to be the source of our ardour,” Athos explained.

D'Artagnan didn't reply for several minutes. Just as Athos was beginning to panic, he spoke.

“I apologise if I've made any of you feel uncomfortable,” he whispered without looking at him.

“Do you still feel jealous?”

“Not... Not like I did but there is still some envy that they have.. spent time with you in ways I have not,” he admitted, colour rising in his cheeks.

“Perhaps, puppy, you could focus on the acts that I will be experiencing for the first time with you,” Athos suggested. He lay his hand on d'Artagnan's knee and this time left it there. “Besides, I feel there is a world of difference between bed hopping for fun and relations with true connection. I was hoping you considered what is between us the latter,” he added, uncertainty creeping into his voice for the first time.

D'Artagnan heard the slight tremor and lay his own hand upon Athos' on his knee.

“I do,” he murmured.

“But?”

“But...”

“Yes?” Athos pressed, squeezing his knee again.

D'Artagnan huffed out an exasperated breath.

“I feel like the inexperienced virgin surrounded by more worldly people,” he said in a rush.

Athos considered his words for a moment before answering. It was a testament to how much respect he had for the Gascon that he took so long to think about what d'Artagnan was trying to communicate.

“Are you worried that is part of why I am seeking this relationship style with you?” he asked carefully.

“No!” exclaimed d'Artagnan. Athos continued to watch him in silence. “I don't think so,” d'Artagnan whispered.

“Can I take that to mean that part of you that feels it might be so?”

“I... I don't like that I think it,” d'Artagnan murmured.

“Is there anything I can do to help you believe me when I tell you that's not true?” Athos asked.

D'Artagnan looked up at him for the first time since the others had left them. Athos felt hurt by the look of disbelief in his eyes. He forced himself to swallow it.

“Am I attracted to your youth and innocence? Yes. I cannot deny that. Please do not, however, mistake that for me seeing you as unworldly, to use your word,” Athos said.

“I don't understand the difference,” d'Artagnan said slowly.

Athos felt his heart lifted at the man's willingness to try and understand. He'd stopped shying away from the difficult questions.

“I happen to know Porthos finds Aramis particularly attractive when he's angry. He is not, however, attracted to him because he gets angry. I enjoy your innocence but it is not why I am attracted to you,” Athos explained.

“That makes sense,” d'Artagnan replied, nodding slowly. “So you do-” he began but cut himself off mid-sentence.

“Yes?”

“Nothing,” d'Artagnan muttered.

Athos shook his head ruefully, his earlier thought coming back to bite him. He waited patiently, keeping his hand on d'Artagnan's knee.

“I was... I'm sorry. I thought you hadn't... You might not **want** to be with me that way,” he said finally, blushing.

“I am content to wait- No. I am **eagerly** waiting until I have the proper time and seclusion to enjoy your touch properly,” Athos said, his soft silky voice sending bolts of pure desire all the way to d'Artagnan's toes.

“Oh,” the normally fiery Gascon murmured inadequately.

“Indeed,” smirked Athos.

“So...”

“Mm?”

“So here doesn't count?”

“No,” replied Athos, smirking still.

“So I can't...” d'Artagnan trailed off, turning to face Athos, the desire clear in his brown eyes.

Athos raised his eyebrows and waited for d'Artagnan to finish the thought.

“I can't... enjoy you?” he asked, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

“You don't enjoy my company?” Athos teased.

“You know what I mean,” d'Artagnan pouted, rolling his eyes slightly.

“I have no idea whatsoever,” he replied, smiling innocently.

D'Artagnan fixed his eyes on the infuriatingly calm blue ones. One doesn't gain without taking risks, he decided.

“I wish to take you in my hand the way you have touched me. I would learn all the things men do together. I would be the one to make you spend in all the ways possible. I wish to cross new boundaries with you, experience things with you that would be new to both of us. To feel you claim me the way you haven't taken anyone before,” he replied, tossing his head back defiantly.

Athos stared at him in stunned silence for several long seconds.

“How bold of you to say so,” he said quietly, his mouth dry.

“You asked,” d'Artagnan said smugly.

“I should take you over my knee right now for harbouring such filthy desires. I should punish you until you beg for mercy, strike your naughty little bottom over and over until you are cleansed of such dirty thoughts,” Athos replied, his voice still soft.

It became d'Artagnan's turn to stare in shock at the other man.

“Would you like that?” Athos asked.

“Yes,” d'Artagnan whispered hoarsely.

“Just as I thought,” Athos replied, nodding. “Dirty boy.”

D'Artagnan stifled a groan and pressed the heel of his hand into his groin to suppress the sudden arousal Athos' words had caused.

“Bed,” Athos said abruptly.

He laughed kindly at the expression on d'Artagnan's face. It was equal parts terror and pure desire.

“To sleep,” he clarified.

“But I always sleep so much better after we...” d'Artagnan said, raising his eyebrows suggestively, earning another soft laugh from Athos.

“First of all, we have not been together often enough to 'always' do anything. Second of all, I still want to take things slowly. Thirdly and finally, the day I finally claim you as mine I will have you somewhere I can listen to every single whimper of pain and moan of pleasure,” he answered matter-of-factly.

Athos chuckled at the renewed shock on d'Artagnan's face and rose gracefully, pulling the silent Gascon to his feet.

  


  


By the time the four of them finished breakfast, again on the floor, Porthos and Aramis were growing restless.

“I do **like** having days at home but...” Aramis sighed.

“I agree” d'Artagnan murmured, watching him drumming his fingers on his knee.

“It's not being able to go out,” Porthos grumbled.

“Tell a man he can't do something and it's all he can think of doing,” huffed Aramis.

Athos and d'Artagnan shared a smirk.

“So let's take your mind off things,” said d'Artagnan, standing.

  


  


An hour or so later, Athos was fetching a drink from the kitchen and was joined by d'Artagnan.

“I should go and get a change of clothes,” he said quietly.

“We, none of us, can leave,” Athos answered.

D'Artagnan gave him a strange look and rejoined the others.

  


  


Captain Tréville called round to see them at noon. Aramis opened the door to him and the Captain blinked at the room. All the furniture was still piled against the walls and Porthos was grappling with d'Artagnan. They let each other go seeing their commander arrive.

“Captain,” Porthos said, nodding.

“I see you're using today productively,” he replied, nodding his approval at Athos.

“He's attempting to tire us out so we can rest this afternoon in the event of her grace being able to ride over night tonight.” Aramis explained.

Something passed across Tréville's face and Athos narrowed his eyes.

“What is it, Captain?” he asked.

“The King has decided the Duchess will stay another night,” Tréville answered.

Captain-” Porthos began but Tréville held his hand up.

They all stared at him in shock for several seconds.

“I have tried. The Cardinal has tried. The Duchess herself has tried,” he continued, wearily.

“We were already cutting it fine,” d'Artagnan said, frowning.

“What do you suggest, Captain?” Athos asked.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tréville's plan is acted upon and they head out of Paris with the Duchess

“I cannot believe we are kidnapping this woman again,” Porthos hissed as he and Aramis inched along the palace wall.

“It does seem to be getting slightly out of hand,” Aramis murmured. They paused at the end and nodded across the square to d'Artagnan.

D'Artagnan nodded back at them and turned to Athos who was waiting with some drunk vagrants. He gave each of them a coin and nodded towards the gate.

All four men held their breath to see if these peasants would follow through. Twenty sous should be enough to buy their silence but if not...

Their drunken fight in front of the gates had its purpose. The Red Guards on duty came out to break it up and Porthos and Aramis slipped past them easily.

As they crossed the courtyard inside the gates, d'Artagnan stepped forwards to help break up the fight. The presence of the trainee Musketeer was enough to keep them engaged with snide comments long enough for the Musketeers inside to reach the palace walls.

Athos came out of the shadows to break the fight up and the vagrants meekly returned to the square. After a few last sharp comments towards the Guards, Athos and d'Artagnan withdrew also. Athos quickly paid the beggars, plus extra and sent them on their way with renewed promises to never speak of this.

“Think they knew you were Musketeers?” d'Artagnan asked.

They moved along the wall to the next set of gates. These were more heavily guarded but closer to the Duchess' rooms.

“I don't believe they realised **we** are Musketeers, no. Even if they do, however, the only thing they can say is they were paid to have a fight. They never saw Aramis and Porthos,” Athos said.

“Every one in Paris knows if you're involved in something, those two are as well,” he answered.

“Indeed. The **four** of us go every where together,” Athos replied sharply. D'Artagnan scowled slightly.

They fell silent, crouching in the shadows. They watched carefully for any sign of the others returning.

After an hour a slight scuffling noise caught Athos' attention. He touched his fingers lightly against the Gascon's shoulder but d'Artagnan was already on alert.

He watched in silence as the Red Guards moved away one by one. Porthos and Aramis were too good for whatever they were doing to successfully draw each guard away to be picked up by Athos.

“How do you stand the waiting?” d'Artagnan hissed.

“Practice,” Athos murmured without looking at him.

Finally the noise they were waiting for sounded, Porthos' low whistle. They quickly stepped to the gate and managed to pull the gates far enough part to let the Duchess through. Athos quickly took her away to where the horses were waiting while Aramis slipped through the gap in the gates behind her.

Porthos just about managed to squeeze through and the three of them duck-walked along the wall behind them.

“Maybe you should go on a diet?” Aramis suggested.

“This is what real men look like, you waif,” Porthos snorted.

  
  


  
  


  
  


“I fear I will not be able to ride much longer,” the Duchess said quietly. She yawned and stroked her horses' neck. 

It was well into the small hours of the morning and they'd been riding for hours. Athos was anxious to get away from Paris and he glanced around at everyone. They had all dismounted in order to stretch their limbs.

“I have a suggestion, your grace,” he said softly.

“Then please, let me hear it. I, too, am anxious to get away from the city, especially given my brother's reluctance for us to leave,” she answered, looking over at him.

“Would it be amenable to you if one of us took you onto our own horse? We would slow to a walking pace but hopefully this would allow you to rest,” he explained.

“You expect I could sleep on a moving horse?” she asked, slowly.

“Even if you are unable to, your Grace, you would not be required to concentrate so your fatigue would not...” he trailed off.

“My inexperience would not slow you fine men down?” she asked shrewdly.

“I apologise, your Grace,” Athos said quickly, dipping his head.

“No need,” she answered, smiling softly. “I understand the suggestion and I defer to your expertise on the best course, Sir. Do you feel we would be best served by continuing at walking pace while I rest?” she asked, lifting her chin.

“I do,” Athos answered, inclining his head.

“Then let us proceed,” she said calmly. "With whom shall I be riding?”

“With Aramis and d'Artagnan. They are our smoothest riders,” Athos answered, breathing an inward sigh of relief.

He watched curiously as her eyes flicked between the two men he indicated. She moved towards d'Artagnan and Athos frowned slightly.

“You are not a Musketeer, Monsieur?” she asked as they helped her mount.

“Not yet, my lady,” d'Artagnan answered. He carefully mounted behind her and held himself as far away as possible.

“I am not entirely sure of your companion's plan but I do believe you are supposed to ride close enough that I can rest against you,” she commented, amused.

“I'm sorry,” d'Artagnan said quickly. He shifted his weight forwards so his stomach and chest were just touching her back. He carefully placed his arms either side of her slim frame to take the reins and moved off behind Athos.

Porthos paused just as he was about to mount his horse, seeing Aramis staring thoughtfully after them.

“Aramis?” he asked quietly.

Aramis shook himself and tied the Duchess' horse to his own and quickly mounted. Porthos followed suit.

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


They made their camp just as the sun rose. Athos could tell from her face that the Duchess hadn't slept at all on their ride but he admired her for not complaining once.

Aramis and Porthos fell asleep almost immediately. D'Artagnan glanced over at them and tilted his head. He'd never noticed how they always slept within arm's reach of each other. It was a totally innocuous thing but he noticed Aramis shift in his sleep and their fingertips touched.

“Are you taking watch with me?” Athos asked, breaking into his thoughts.

“I'm not intending to, no. I just need...” he glanced at the Duchess, curled up on her makeshift bed in the shade and lowered his voice. “I need to stretch before I lay down. I am not good at riding with her on board.”

Athos smiled slightly and watched d'Artagnan stretching. He twisted his hips and leaned forwards to touch his toes. He groaned quietly as he did so.

“You sit too upright. You actually lean forwards. I don't believe she has slept at all,” Athos said softly.

“No. She probably hasn't,” d'Artagnan agreed, still stretching.

Athos nodded thoughtfully and finished tending to the horses while d'Artagnan settled down in the shade to sleep. He frowned again to note he'd chosen a place far from where Athos would set up watch.

  
  


 

  
  


Several hours later, Aramis was on the final watch when the Duchess woke. He heard her stretching and the rustle of the cloaks she had been laying on as she stood.

“Good day, your Grace,” he said quietly so as not to wake the others.

“What time is it?” she asked, sitting down beside him. Her eyes watched his hands as they finished cleaning his arquebus. He rose to his feet in one smooth motion.

“Please, allow me to get you some water. The sun tells me it is shortly before noon,” Aramis replied.

As he collected his water skin from where it lay beside Porthos, his lover stirred at his approach and pulled himself up to a sitting position. Returning, Aramis poured a cup of water from the skin and handed it to the Duchess.

“Thank you,” she said softly, watching him. “You're uncomfortable around me, Monsieur.”

Aramis looked down at her, startled. There was no heat in her voice, just calm observation. He leaned down to collect his hat and bowed slightly to her.

“You are mistaken, your Grace. I have no reason to be uncomfortable around you,” he said formally. “Allow me to fetch us some lunch while the others wake.”

The Duchess opened her mouth to reply but was joined by the still yawning Porthos and decided not to push it.

  
  


  
  


They stopped as the sun began to set and after the five of them had eaten, they continued riding. Athos noticed the Duchess beginning to flag in the small hours of the morning once again and the terrain had begun to grow less smooth.

He stopped the party and helped the Duchess down.

“Do you need to stop?” he asked softly.

“I do not wish to do so. It is so much cooler at night and I understand your wish is for us to reach the waters before this time tomorrow if possible?” she asked. When Athos nodded she continued. “Then perhaps we could return to last night's arrangement. Although I do not believe your young friend is the most experienced at riding in this manner.”

Athos smiled and nodded once at her.

“As you wish,” he said.

Aramis felt eyes on him and turned around. The Duchess was watching him intently as Athos approached him.

“The Duchess has requested she ride with you, Aramis. She is too tired to ride alone but wants to continue through the night,” Athos said.

Porthos shook his head slightly and turned away from them, straightening his bandanna.

“OK,” Aramis said softly. He squeezed Porthos' arm to both quiet him and draw himself some courage. After a moment he walked quickly and quietly to the Duchess' side.

“You do not mind Sir?” she asked.

“Not at all your grace,” he replied politely.

Porthos had followed close behind and together they helped the Duchess mount up. Aramis jumped up behind her and shifted his weight.

Athos watched from where he was stood tying the Duchess' horse to d'Artagnan's saddle. Aramis naturally leaned back when he rode and already Athos could see the Duchess looking more comfortable.

He moved them off, d'Artagnan following with the spare mount and Porthos bringing up the rear. He doused his lantern, happy to walk in the dark.

Aramis relaxed quickly, feeling the Duchess' slight frame settle against his own. She was light and didn't seem to fidget at all. His arms naturally tucked into her waist to hold her steady where he was holding the reins.

“Your name is Aramis?” she asked suddenly. She was whispering so clearly this conversation was meant only for his ears.

“Yes your Grace,” he murmured in reply.

“I understand you were present the night Chancellor Cluzet was removed from Savoy?”

Aramis' entire body tensed and it took him several long moments to remind himself how to speak.

“I was,” he replied stiffly.

“I believe you were the only Musketeer to return to Paris,” she said quietly.

“I was,” he repeated.

“Captain Tréville tells me you know the details of what happened,” she said gently. Aramis didn't reply. She could feel his body growing tenser with every passing second. “I will not apologise, Monsieur, for my own life would have been lost. I do, however, regret the way it happened.”

Aramis again found himself utterly lost for words. He wasn't sure what she was looking for and decided since she was being almost brutally honest, he would be too.

“What are you looking for, Duchess?” he asked in a whisper. “Forgiveness?”

“No,” she answered quickly.

There was a tense silence before she continued speaking.

“I do not feel guilty, Monsieur Aramis. I was saddened to hear of how the distraction was achieved. I, like most in France, have a very dear place in my heart for the Musketeers. I do, however, understand that the country comes first. Do you?” she said softly.

Aramis sighed.

“I do, your Grace. I'm sure it was a terrible decision for those responsible and I don't doubt it has been difficult for you to bear also. I am a mere soldier,” he answered quietly.

“Mere is not an appropriate word for a Musketeer,” she replied.

“Kind of you to say so,” he murmured.

“I believe your friends feel some anger towards me,” she said, shrewdly.

“They are my brothers,” he said, by way of explanation.

She nodded and leaned back against him. After several long minutes, Aramis felt her body swaying with the horse's movements. He tightened his elbows against her waist to hold her steady and felt her gradually falling asleep.

Porthos rode up beside him and frowned at him in the dark. Aramis met his eyes calmly.

“Everything OK?” Porthos asked quietly.

“Yes, Porthos. Everything is OK,” Aramis answered honestly.

He watched Porthos smile slightly and drop back.

 


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Musketeers attempt to return the Duchess to her camp

They managed to ride through a few hours after the sun rose, the Duchess dozing comfortably in Aramis' arms. When they stopped, Aramis held his finger to his lips as he helped the Duchess down. She frowned at him and Athos came up beside the two of them to explain.

“We are so close now. If they have discovered your absence and have sent out search parties... We must make as little noise as possible,” he said in a whisper.

She nodded and they showed her to the bed of blankets Porthos and d'Artagnan had quickly prepared.

Aramis felt her eyes on them all as they moved around the clearing Athos had selected. They worked in silence, quickly gathering food together and seeing to their horses. He felt Porthos move up beside him.

“OK?” he breathed.

“I will tell you all about it on the way home,” Aramis promised in a whisper. Porthos nodded and moved away.

  
  


  
  


They ate a small meal mid-afternoon before they set off again. Athos took the Duchess through their plan. He intended to wait until the same man was on watch, situating Aramis on the cliff again to keep a lookout.

“I have instructed my maid to go for swims at midnight so the noise of water should not arouse suspicion. Up until I left they had been very diligent about keeping their backs turned while I swam. I do believe they will have continued to do so,” she put in.

“Then maybe you could swim in while she's in the water?” d'Artagnan asked.

“I would not like to take that risk if one of the more experienced guards is on watch. Being forbidden from watching would make any one of us listen harder. Hearing one person enter the water and two leave it would arouse suspicion,” Athos countered, frowning.

“Will it not also do so to hear the Duchess swimming twice when she normally only does once?” Aramis asked.

“Perhaps but, and forgive me for saying so your Grace,” Athos replied, inclining his head in her direction. “I believe the fear of yours and the Duke's anger at turning to watch would be enough to still them.”

The Duchess smiled slightly but didn't answer, accepting the truth in his words.

“If the young lad takes first watch, we'll be able to get you back before she comes out for the midnight swim,” Porthos said quietly.

“Will the others be fully asleep if that happens?” d'Artagnan asked, frowning.

“Even if they aren't, why would they look?” Porthos asked.

They all nodded thoughtfully for a few minutes.

“I estimate we will arrive at the first clearing in about three hours. There we will do as we did before. We will leave the horses there with Porthos. Aramis will climb up to the cliff with d'Artagnan while you and I move to the stream, your grace,” Athos explained.

“When I confirm the young man is on watch, d'Artagnan will meet you at the stream and you will move up the stream as before. It will be easier to move in the stream than along the bank,” Aramis said quietly.

“Wouldn't it be better if one of us stayed with Aramis to act as a relay so he doesn't have to leave his vantage point? If we secure the horses then I can come down to you to confirm when we're clear so you can both stay with the Duchess,” Porthos suggested.

Athos nodded thoughtfully.

“That would probably be best. OK. You remain with Aramis and keep us updated. You can confirm when we have the all clear. That will prevent d'Artagnan and your Grace having to enter the water until we know you're clear,” Athos said, turning to the Duchess, who nodded her understanding.

“Once at the opening in the cliffs, we will leave you. I'll remain on the ledge in the water to make sure you swim back without incident. Aramis will be looking out on the cliff to warn us if anything happens,” d'Artagnan put in.

“As you and d'Artagnan move along the stream, I will rise along the cliffs to join Aramis. You will have all four of us watching over you as you rejoin your party,” Athos finished.

“Sound good?” Porthos asked.

“It does. It worked fine on the way out and that was without my help. This time I'm fully informed and co-operating,” she said quietly.

  
  


  
  


They arrived in the clearing just as the sun was setting. Porthos and Aramis immediately disappeared into the trees to check the camp. The others remained behind, nervous and jumpy. This was the moment they'd find out if her disappearance had been discovered.

D'Artagnan got some food out for the Duchess to snack on but they didn't settle the horses in case they needed to leave suddenly. It was over an hour before Porthos returned.

“We're good. All three guards still present and still keeping their backs turned. While we were there, they seemed to call out to check the women were all inside the tent before lighting the braziers,” he reported.

“Aramis?” Athos asked.

“Staying put. I'm going to take him some food and keep watch with him. When we've learned their watch pattern I'll come back and report,” he replied.

Athos nodded his approval.

“You're sure they still think I'm present?” the Duchess asked.

“They're all still there and they called out before stepping down. Couldn't hear what they called out but if they knew you weren't there, I don't see them just calling out to your maids, your Grace,” Porthos said, bowing to her slightly.

“Thank you, Monsieur,” she said quietly.

Porthos gathered up the food items and nodded at them all.

“Am I likely to see Aramis again?” she asked suddenly.

Porthos glanced at Athos before turning to the Duchess.

“Don't think so, your Grace,” he answered carefully.

“Then... Please tell him I thank him for riding with me and... tell him that he was right about what I was looking for and I feel I found it,” she said. She lifted her chin and looked at him steadily.

Porthos bowed slightly and turned away. His mind was spinning as he climbed the cliffs quickly and quietly. Aramis hadn't moved a muscle and was still laying on his stomach.

“Ah, he returns,” Aramis murmured, glancing over his shoulder.

“With food,” Porthos said, laying the bag down and sitting beside him.

“My hero,” he replied, sitting up.

“She said something weird to me,” Porthos said, frowning as he retrieved food for them both.

“Oh?”

Porthos nodded. He shifted his position so he could see the camp while Aramis was busy eating and leaned back against a tree.

“She said you were right about what she was looking for and she thinks she found it. Know what she meant?” Porthos asked, searching his face.

Aramis smiled softly and nodded.

“Aramis?”

“Forgiveness,” he whispered. Seeing the frown on Porthos' face, he explained. “When we were riding, you heard us talking?”

“Not what was said. Coulda listened harder but didn't think you wanted to be overheard,” Porthos answered.

“I love you,” Aramis whispered. He was very touched that although Porthos was the most curious man he'd ever met, he had forced himself not to listen.

Porthos smiled and gestured for Aramis to continue.

“Tréville told her I was the only survivor from Savoy and that he'd told me the truth behind it. I don't believe she knows I told you or Athos. She kept telling me she regretted how things turned out but wouldn't apologise. She said she didn't feel guilty,” Aramis explained.

Porthos snorted.

“I know it's hard for you to understand, mi vida. I believe her when she says she doesn't feel guilty and I understand her reasons for it. We've all made sacrifices for France,” Aramis murmured.

“You are too valuable to be sacrificed for anyone or anything. Even France” Porthos replied distractedly, peering across to the camp. He looked back when Aramis didn't reply. Aramis was smiling softly at him.

“I adore you, Porthos. You are, however, blind when it comes to me. I think if you're honest with yourself you do agree that no man's life is worth more than the nation. We're soldiers, my love. Yes?”

Porthos just grunted in reply, turning back to the camp. Aramis smiled, knowing that was Porthos' way of agreeing.

“I asked her why she was telling me those things. I asked what she was looking for and suggested it might be forgiveness. She said no and just repeated the same things. It appears I was, in fact, correct,” he explained.

Porthos turned his head back to peer at him. He was pleasantly surprised to see Aramis looking calm, collected and, most surprising of all, peaceful.

“She thinks she found it,” Porthos said, slicing his apple.

“She did,” Aramis replied.

“Sure?” Porthos asked, frowning.

“I am at the moment. Let's get her safely away and I can think about it properly,” he said firmly.

“Yes, Sire,” Porthos murmured and turned back to the camp.

“I didn't mean it like that, darling. I'm not shutting you out. I'm just accepting it for now,” Aramis said.

He leaned forwards and rested his hand on Porthos' knee. The darker man flicked his gaze back to Aramis briefly, flashing him a small smile, before turning back to the camp.

  
  


  
  


  
  


They lay together on their stomachs watching the camp. They saw the maid come out for her midnight swim, return to the tent, all without a glance from the guards. They were still on the rocky ledge and seemed to be taking two hour watches. The next watch should be the younger guard.

Porthos slipped down the hill to the clearing to find the Duchess pacing anxiously and the other two sat almost motionless. They both rose when Porthos entered the clearing.

“No changes. We think the young one is going to take over in just over an hour,” Porthos said quietly.

“If you please, Duchess, we'll move to the stream bank for the remaining time,” Athos said softly.

The Duchess nodded and followed him and d'Artagnan to the small area by the bank. Porthos separated from them almost immediately to head silently back up to Aramis' look out.

Athos and d'Artagnan moved quietly through the trees, the Duchess between them. The wait beside the stream was painfully tense. Neither Athos nor d'Artagnan spoke at all and the Duchess took her cue from them.

After an hour there was a low whistle from the trees and Porthos' head appeared. He nodded once at them and disappeared again.

“Time to go, your Grace. I hope your time with us has not been too disagreeable. I apologise for the amount of darkness you saw in our company,” Athos said quietly, bowing.

“Thank you, Sir,” she murmured. “You have taken excellent care of me. I only hope my brother is not too angry at your spiriting me out of Paris before he intended.”

Athos smiled slightly and inclined his head. He turned to d'Artagnan.

“Quickly and quietly,” he reminded.

He withdrew into the trees and followed Porthos to the ledge.

The Duchess watched him go and turned back to d'Artagnan to find him stripping his boots off. She turned away again, embarrassed.

“I apologise, your Grace,” he said quickly.

“It's perfectly fine. I have a warm fire lit tent, bedding and a change of clothes waiting for me. You do not. I understand,” she said. She turned around suddenly and stared him down. “Besides... it's dark.”

D'Artagnan grinned at her and pulled his breeches and doublet off. He clipped his sword belt back on over his braies and gestured to the stream.

  
  


  
  


Porthos felt Athos lay down beside him and draw his pistol.

“We good?” he asked.

“Last step. I climbed alongside them. They should be appearing any second,” Athos answered.

“I see them,” murmured Aramis.

Sure enough, d'Artagnan and the Duchess were just visible. They could tell the moment the Duchess stepped off the sudden ledge and submerged herself. D'Artagnan was crouched on the edge, watching her. They could see from the way he held himself he was ready to dive in after her.

The three Musketeers on top of the cliff watched in silence, weapons drawn, as the Duchess approached the bank. The young man on duty still hadn't turned but the brazier closest to the water was beginning to flicker and die. Just as the Duchess was about to reach the bank, it went out.

All three men sucked in a breath as the young man noticed and glanced over his shoulder. Athos shot a glance to d'Artagnan but he had moved out of sight, presumably having noticed the same thing they did.

Porthos felt Aramis move to light his fuse but touched his elbow to hold him steady. From their vantage point they saw the Duchess reach the bank just as the guard stood and began to turn.

They watched without breathing as the Duchess suddenly pulled her nightdress over her head and threw it to the side, hidden from the guard's view by the tent.

“Bloody hell,” murmured Porthos.

The other two chuckled slightly as it seemed the Duchess was yelling at the guard, bare as the day she was born.

“My my. What a woman,” Aramis whispered, watching the diminutive figure stand, hands on hips, shouting down the guard.

Faces appeared at the tent and the other two guards both woke. The older man pulled sharply on the younger guard's arm, spinning him around, away from the nude form of the Duchess. He said a few short words, bowed and turned away himself.

They breathed a sigh of relief as she stalked into the tent, scooping up her wet nightdress as she went. After a few short minutes where they watched the guard clearly being berated, d'Artagnan joined them, laying down beside Athos. He was carrying his discarded garments, still clad only in his smalls and shirt, his skin glistening in the moonlight where it was still wet.

“How are we doing? I heard raised voices but I couldn't see. I had to move against the cliff when I saw the guard stand,” he whispered.

“She seems to have distracted them. She... She bared her skin to him and gave him quite the scolding,” Athos relayed.

“Goodness! It seems he's now being told off by the older guard,” d'Artagnan observed.

“Indeed,” Athos commented.

The four of them fell silent and watched the camp gradually settle down. The elder guard took over the watch. Presumably he called out for permission because he slipped down the bank to re-light the brazier and quickly moved back up to their vantage point and sat with his back to the Duchess' tent.

At Athos' encouragement, d'Artagnan fell asleep beside him, curling into his side. They remained there another three hours until the sun began to rise. When they saw the small camp stirring without incident, the Musketeers were satisfied they could leave.

They gently roused d'Artagnan and he dressed quickly. The horses were exactly where they left them, clearly growing restless.

They mounted up and quietly moved out, moving on for about two hours until they reached the same place they'd camped with the Duchess the previous afternoon. It took them less than half the time without the Duchess.

“We'll stop here for no more than four hours. D'Artagnan, please keep watch and wake us then,” Athos said quietly, dismounting.

D'Artagnan nodded and took the reins of his horse. The other three quickly sank to the floor in the shade. Aramis and Porthos fell asleep holding hands almost immediately. Athos watched d'Artagnan silently for a few minutes.

“Yes?” asked the younger man, feeling Athos watch him.

“Just reminding myself how good you look wet. It's a nice image to go to sleep with,” Athos murmured.

D'Artagnan chuckled and turned back to the horses.

 


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The four men think about what will happen when they get home after such a stressful mission.

Aramis felt Porthos stirring and woke quickly. Their eyes met and he couldn't help smiling. It felt like a whole new beginning. They quickly rose and the four of them mounted up and moved on, eating as they rode.

It seemed to Aramis the horses were very happy to be moving along at a decent pace. They'd been restricted to walking almost constantly for a week so being able to trot along together was a huge improvement. They couldn't go much faster, however, still needing to be vigilant until they were literally out of the woods.

“Let's go riding when we're done with this. I'm sick of all this careful, careful slow nonsense,” Porthos said, echoing Aramis' thoughts.

“Sounds delightful,” Aramis answered, smiling at him. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Porthos said simply.

Athos and d'Artagnan listened to this exchange from behind them.

“Do you ever envy how easily they say that?” d'Artagnan asked.

“Some days. Even before... I was never that... emotionally accessible. Spent too much time being proper and correct. Love and affection don't come easily to the nobility,” Athos mused.

“They can. Perhaps one's heart should be exercised like one's sword arm?” d'Artagnan suggested.

“Perhaps,” Athos murmured.

D'Artagnan tilted his head as Porthos and Aramis moved closer and held hands while riding.

“They're like newly-weds,” d'Artagnan chuckled.

“They've been like it all the time I've known them. They've been together so long and still it's so perfect,” Athos said softly.

Aramis and Porthos could hear them talking about them but didn't care. They hid their relationship from just about everyone. Here were the two people in the world they didn't need to be secretive around.

Holding hands while riding made life slightly more difficult, especially since the spare horse was tied to Aramis' saddle. They didn't care, however, and were simply eager to stay connected.

Aramis was humming softly, too low for the tune to carry beyond Porthos' ears. He recognised the tune and smiled sideways at him.

“Mi sol,” Porthos said quietly.

Aramis just smiled and continued humming as they rode.

  
  


  
  


They managed to force themselves to ride all through the day, despite the fact that all of them, especially d'Artagnan were very fatigued. They wanted to camp by night and get as far away as possible from the waters.

They stopped as the sun began to set in a very small clearing. They slowly worked together to settle the horses, not talking much. Athos took d'Artagnan into the trees to rest first since he'd only had the small nap on the ledge instead of the long rest the others had.

Porthos took the first watch, Aramis curled up at his side, his head in Porthos' lap. After twenty minutes, he looked down to see Aramis still awake.

“Are you **trying** not to sleep?” Porthos asked, curiously.

“Yes, my love. I'm remembering the day we camped behind the monastery all those years together. I was cleaning my pistols and you fell asleep, in my lap. I kept growing restless and worried and I kept holding your hair when I was too unsettled,” Aramis said sleepily.

“I remember that place. When we really were newly-weds?” Porthos murmured, stroking Aramis' hair.

“That's the one. Then we switched and I lay with you then just as I am now,” Aramis continued. “I was just drifting off and I felt your hand trembling. Your whole body went tense.”

Porthos grimaced and didn't reply, remembering what happened.

“You cried while you thought I slept. You didn't tell me how much you were suffering. I hadn't realised how much Savoy upset you and you waited until I was asleep to deal with it,” Aramis said, forcing his eyes open. “I won't make that mistake this time. How are you doing?”

Porthos opened his mouth and closed it again. He frowned briefly before taking a deep breath.

“I'm still worried about you. I weren't happy about you and her talking. I'm less happy about her saying she's not sorry. I'm seriously struggling with the idea of you forgiving her for it,” Porthos said in a rush.

Aramis chuckled slightly.

“See. Things bothering you,” he said pointedly. “What is that you are worried about in regards to me?”

“It might upset you,” Porthos warned. “Sure you don't wanna wait until morning?”

“I'm sure,” Aramis said calmly.

“I'm worried that all this might stir up Savoy stuff again. It took months for your nightmares to stop after it happened. You were quick tempered and restless for weeks after Marsac. I don't want to see that happen again,” Porthos said quietly.

“I apologise, mi vida. I think it will, though. I can already feel them pressing at my mind,” he replied, resigned.

“I'm sorry, Sire. I didn't mean to... I don't want you to feel guilty. I just-”

“Shh. Shh, my boy. I understand. I asked what you were worried about and you answered me. You're right to be worried about it but we will get through it together,” Aramis said, cutting him off.

“It'll pass,” Porthos murmured and stroked Aramis' face.

“It will, indeed. I think it's good that she and I talked. I did still resent her for being the reason it happened but it's not her fault. They were... They were killed in service of the Crown,” Aramis murmured.

Porthos took a deep breath.

“I'll try to see it that way, Sire. Right now I'm still stuck thinking of what could have happened,” Porthos said stiffly.

“Thank you, mi vida. Anything else bothering you?” Aramis asked, searching his face.

“Same as you, love. Remembering that day behind Tortoir. Remembering what it felt like to think-”

“Shh,” murmured Aramis, cutting Porthos off again.

“Sire?”

“No good will come of revisiting that. I suspect I will be visiting it in my dreams. Please, my love, allow us both freedom from those thoughts in our waking hours,” Aramis said quietly, gazing up at him.

“You asked, Sire,” Porthos said, slightly hurt.

“I know, my boy. I know. I just want to stop you and I dwelling on it. I'm here. You're here. I'm safe in your arms, you're safe at my side. We must stop dwelling. Marsac's demons weren't laid to rest until he was. Don't let that be our fate,” Aramis murmured.

“I'll try harder,” Porthos promised. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Aramis sighed softly, smiling up at him.

“Sleep love,” Porthos whispered.

“Maybe in a while,” Aramis replied.

In fact, Aramis drifted off to sleep within minutes. Porthos hated to wake him to swap watches but he knew Aramis would prefer to be woken than Porthos do longer than he should.

Porthos hadn't realised just how fatigued he was until he mirrored their position from earlier, his head in Aramis' lap. Almost immediately he felt sleep pulling at him and tried to resist. He heard Aramis chuckling and squinted up at him.

“Mmm?” he asked.

“Sleep, mi vida. It's been a very very long day. Sleep,” he murmured, stroking the dark curls.

“But you-”

“Get to do what I like,” interrupted Aramis, grinning. “You don't.”

Porthos chuckled softly and nodded in defeat.

“It's over, my love. All the trouble and terror Savoy caused... It's over,” Aramis murmured.

Porthos smiled without answering, turned onto his side, his face pressed against Aramis' hip and fell asleep almost instantly.

  
  


  
  


  
  


Athos woke to find Porthos gently squeezing his shoulder. He looked up and nodded his thanks, stretching slightly as Porthos withdrew. He glanced at the still solidly sleeping d'Artagnan by his side and couldn't help the small smile that came to his lips. The Gascon was curled on his side, his face close to Athos' shoulder, and he was smiling in his sleep.

Athos left him sleeping soundly and took up Aramis' and Porthos' previous position by the horses. The movement of the horses behind him would alert him to anyone coming from that direction and he had clear sight lines every where else.

He watched as Porthos lay down, Aramis curled up tightly in his arms. By the moonlight he could just about see their lips moving as they whispered to each other. After only a few minutes, they fell asleep and Porthos' rumbling snores rolled gently through the clearing. Athos smiled as Aramis moved in his sleep, quickly stopping Porthos' snoring. It seemed to be second nature to Aramis, always stopping Porthos snoring when they camped.

A slight movement on the edge of the camp caught his eye but it was only d'Artagnan shifting, presumably woken by Porthos. He tilted his head in amusement as d'Artagnan sat up and looked around. Athos wondered if he was searching for him. His suspicions were confirmed when d'Artagnan spied him and came crawling sleepily towards him.

“Never before has the phrase 'hello puppy' been so apt,” Athos said softly as d'Artagnan arrived beside him on hands and knees.

D'Artagnan shrugged slightly and flopped down onto his side. Athos stretched his legs out in front of him and d'Artagnan lifted his head to nuzzle into Athos' lap.

Athos chuckled slightly and stroked d'Artagnan's hair. It was only a few minutes before he fell back to sleep. Athos leaned back against the tree, sighing contentedly. It appeared his puppy had just needed to follow him. Perhaps everything was fine after all.

  
  


  
  


  
  


When they switched for the final watch, Athos stretched out to sleep on his back, his head by d'Artagnan's feet. The younger man watched Athos fall asleep and smiled.

After an hour or so he found his mind drifting to what would happen when they got back to Paris.

Would they become a couple like Aramis and Porthos? He wasn't sure they felt that way towards each other. Athos had also said he wasn't. D'Artagnan still had so many questions about where they were going. They couldn't really be called questions since neither he nor Athos knew the answers. They were just things to work out.

How much was he supposed to obey? Would Athos set rules? How possessive was Athos going to be? What of Constance? D'Artagnan certainly had feelings for her. They were simple, affectionate feelings. He was pretty sure what he felt for Constance was love. But Athos? That was something else. He wanted Constance, sure. Increasingly he felt he needed Athos.

What would he do about them? He would never be able to have an open and honest relationship with Athos. Wasn't it Athos who kept saying he wasn't sure about being capable of romance? He couldn't have that with Constance either, though. Aramis seemed able to have Porthos in his life and other women. Perhaps they would form the same sort of situation? He couldn't imagine that. He didn't want an illicit affair with Constance. He wanted to love her. But Athos? Athos was so much more than that.

Aside from the physical interest he had in the man, there was something about Athos' calming influence that answered something in him. He was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. He honestly couldn't remember moving with Athos earlier but he'd woken up in an entirely different place. Athos had told him he'd woken up, followed him across the camp and gone back to sleep. He had no memory of that so clearly proximity to Athos was something he needed.

Yet he wanted more than just being physically close to the man. He kept holding himself so far away. He wanted to be able to hold hands with him like Porthos and Aramis did. To kiss him, to hold him. To share with him. To bring him the bliss he brought d'Artagnan. He was so hard to read. He felt a pang of guilt at how he'd been withdrawing from Athos but if he wasn't going to get the intimacy he needed, he didn't feel like opening up himself. Yet when they **were** close...

D'Artagnan rubbed a hand over his face and let his eyes roam across the man's body. Would they really have sex? He groaned at the thought. However much he liked the idea of spending time with Constance alone, the idea of Athos was just utterly intoxicating. The way it felt when Athos touched him. The desperation with which he wanted to touch Athos. The... other things. The way Athos was willing to make it so good it hurt. The images he put in his head. Was he serious about... about spanking him? He groaned again and pressed his head back against the tree, screwing his eyes closed.

“You're supposed to be on watch,” came Athos' soft voice.

D'Artagnan's eyes flew open and he looked down. Athos was awake and watching him, a small smile on his face.

“I am watching,” d'Artagnan protested feebly.

“With your eyes closed?”

“Only for a second. I was just... regaining my focus,” d'Artagnan answered, grinning.

“What distracted you?” Athos asked, propping himself up on his elbows.

“I'm embarrassed to say,” d'Artagnan answered, smiling bashfully.

“This sounds good,” Athos murmured.

“I was thinking about the... threats you've made,” he admitted.

“Threats?” asked Athos, sitting up. “They weren't threats.”

“No? They sounded like them,” d'Artagnan teased.

“They were intentions. Promises,” Athos said quietly, eliciting a groan from the Gascon. “There's that noise again,” he murmured.

D'Artagnan laughed and rocked forwards onto his knees. He leaned in close to Athos and kissed him tentatively. Athos jerked away in surprise. He was dismayed to see rejection on D'Artagnan's face as he leaned back.

“Oh, puppy. No,” he whispered, reaching for him.

D'Artagnan hovered uncertainly, wanting to pour himself into Athos' arms. The Musketeer took pity on him and moved to his side. He wrapped an arm around d'Artagnan's shoulders and pulled him close.

“I'm not... I'm not a public person. If you and I were alone and in private I would happily have my way with you. I would take you over my knee, strike you until your bottom is blazing red and then I would take you while your skin is still sore,” Athos said softly, his voice low.

D'Artagnan gasped. He turned his head and buried his face into Athos' shoulder. Athos could feel the heat of his cheeks through the leather.

“You would thank me for everything, wouldn't you? You want every single part of it, don't you?” Athos continued.

“Yes Papa,” d'Artagnan moaned, his voice muffled.

“You know you're supposed to be on watch still,” Athos reminded him.

D'Artagnan laughed without raising his head.

“Tsk. Shirking your duty? What in the world should I do with you?” Athos murmured playfully.

The Gascon finally raised his head and smiled at Athos.

“I'm sure it can be added to the tally,” d'Artagnan smirked.

It became Athos' turn to laugh, though it was softer. He tightened his arm around d'Artagnan' shoulders, pulling him closer.

“I hope... Whatever you and I are developing, I would like some say in how it works,” d'Artagnan said quietly.

“What were you thinking?” he asked warily.

“Just... I would like to get to the point where we can share some measure of affection more easily,” d'Artagnan answered.

“I am a very private person,” Athos replied. D'Artagnan sighed and sat up slightly to look at him.

“I know, I just... It's my relationship, too, is it not? I am not asking for you to make love to me in the middle of the town square. I would like to be able to kiss you when we're alone like this, though,” d'Artagnan said, a trace of firmness creeping into his voice.

“This is a remarkably large thing you ask of me,” Athos said thoughtfully. “I will work on it.”

D'Artagnan beamed at him and nuzzled his neck meaningfully.

“However,” Athos murmured.

“Mmm?” asked d'Artagnan, breathing the pure Athos scent in.

“If you are negotiating what you want, I should be able to negotiate something I want?” Athos asked.

“Of course,” d'Artagnan said, looking at him again.

“I don't want to stop you seeing other people. Should you and Madame Bonacieux, or any other woman you become attracted to, grow closer, I do not wish to stand in your way,” he said softly. He raised his hand when d'Artagnan began to protest. “I still do not know if I am capable of loving someone, d'Artagnan. It is not your fate to live without being loved. If you find someone you love who is able to love you in return, I do not wish for you shut that door.”

D'Artagnan frowned unhappily and nodded his understanding, however reluctant he was.

“My request is, then, that you do not stop yourself seeing other people because of me. I would, however, like to ask that you keep me informed of such things. I do not... I am...” Athos trailed off and took a deep breath.

D'Artagnan waited patiently, watching Athos' frown deepen.

“I cannot abide dishonesty. I have been lied to before and I do not think I would survive it from you,” Athos said, not meeting his eyes.

“It's a condition I can agree to easily,” d'Artagnan said calmly.

“Thank you,” Athos said formally.

D'Artagnan could feel the tension in Athos' body and stroked his thigh gently. Slowly, he could feel him relax and Athos took his hand, squeezing gently.

“The sun is rising,” d'Artagnan commented. “Perhaps you should try and get another hour's sleep, Sir.”

“Mmm. Good idea, puppy,” Athos mumbled.

He leaned back against the tree and closed his eyes. D'Artagnan gently withdrew himself from under Athos' arm felt him sag against his side as sleep claimed him. He ran a hand over his face again and sighed, more confused than ever. Was this pushing him to Constance just another attempt to push him away?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Aramis is humming is the one referenced in the super gift livia_bj wrote for me :)
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/5834761
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-oBlXnofmqc


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The four men reconnect on the journey home to Paris and look forward to having time to themselves.

“I suppose with any luck the Captain will give us a few days off,” Aramis mused.

“I believe that is his intention yes,” Athos said quietly.

“What do you plan to do with your time off?” asked Aramis. He smirked slightly at Athos as they rode but he didn't answer.

They made excellent progress that day. The sun was hot but bearable so they stopped frequently. The trees being so close together meant that while they weren't being burnt by the sun, they didn't get any breeze through the trees. As they managed to make better progress after the sun set, they continued for a few more hours until Athos finally bade them stop in the late hours of the night. There was a certain holiday atmosphere around their camp that night.

Porthos and Aramis tended to the horses while the others went to hunt, Porthos grumbling the entire time about how hot he was. When they'd finally seen to and fed all five, Athos and d'Artagnan were returning with rabbits in hand. While they set a fire and began to cook, Aramis and Porthos disappeared upstream to bathe and swim to cool down.

They both stripped to just their smalls and while Aramis set about his ablutions, Porthos groaned happily, fully submerging himself in the river.

He swam back and forth across the wide space of river a few times before stopping and floating on his back beside Aramis who was stood waist deep in the water.

“Hello,” chuckled Aramis, looking upside down at him.

“Feels good to be in the water,” Porthos sighed, drifting beside him.

It was approaching midnight now, the river breaking the trees meaning the moonlight was free to bounce off the water. Aramis smoothed his hand across Porthos' chest, drawing lines in the droplets of water. He stroked softly across his lover's soft stomach and sighed peacefully.

“I think it's true, what d'Artagnan said. We're still like newly-weds. After all these years I am still just as in love with you as I ever have been. I love you more each day and I will love you all the more tomorrow. I meant it, Porthos. You saved my life,” Aramis murmured.

Porthos smiled and dropped his feet to the riverbed standing up beside Aramis, his back to the bank. They both glanced around but this far out in the country, even the river was deserted and trees covered the bank on either side. Porthos drew the slender man into his arms and rested his forehead against Aramis'.

“You saved mine. I was so angry, so closed off, so scared. I was just so defensive. I couldn't... I hated the idea of anyone being close to me. You....” he sighed and kissed Aramis softly before resting his forehead against his again. “You fixed me. I love you, Aramis.”

They remained like that for several long minutes under the moonlight, just holding each other in the water. Both men had closed their eyes, content to just lean their foreheads against each other. All the stress and concern seemed to leech out of them as the water lapped around them. They were finally done with Savoy. Each man felt that unspoken strength the other provided, filling them, warming them from the inside.

Eventually the closeness of each other's body had a more physical effect on them both and Aramis pressed his lithe body against Porthos' and hummed slightly.

Porthos slid his broad hand up Aramis' arm, over his shoulder and cradled his face. Their lips met slowly, but not gently. They pressed against each other for long, long seconds and their bodies began to move against each other.

The larger man groaned softly against Aramis as his nimble tongue pressed into Porthos' mouth. His hand moved to the back of Aramis' head, his fingers winding their way into the dark hair, holding him tight.

Aramis moaned appreciatively. He arched his back, pressing himself against Porthos just the way he knew drove his lover wild. His expectation was met when Porthos growled slightly and used his free hand to press Aramis' hips harder against his own. The hand in his hair tightened as well and Aramis flexed his hips, rubbing himself against his lover.

“Sire,” Porthos gasped.

“I agree,” Aramis purred.

Taking Porthos by the hand, he led them out of the water and up the bank. As soon as they reached the seclusion of the trees, Aramis whirled around and flattened himself against Porthos, pushing him back against a tree.

Immediately leaning in for a kiss, he felt Porthos' mouth yield to him, as he always did. His tongue pressed against Porthos' as they shared a moan. Aramis wound both of his hands into Porthos' curls, tightening his grip until it made him growl, straddling the pleasure pain line they both loved so much.

Porthos replaced his hand against Aramis' face, stroking his face upwards until his fingers were in his hair. The other hand was restlessly roaming up and down Aramis' bare back, finally coming to rest on Aramis' buttocks. He gripped the high, tight orb of muscles through the damp cloth and pulled him close. Aramis moaned low against his mouth and it was too much for Porthos to cope with. He span them around, pressing the slender man against the tree. He groaned softly, nuzzling into Aramis' neck.

“Sire,” he repeated hoarsely.

“Mmm?” asked Aramis, winding one hand into Porthos' curls while the other rested on his lower back.

“Want you so much,” Porthos groaned, pressing himself harder against Aramis' pelvis.

“On your knees,” Aramis murmured.

He watched as Porthos slid gracefully to his knees. Aramis always found the way the big man moved utterly beautiful to watch. Just the sight of him on his knees made Aramis' heart swell. The devotion and the humility was his love language.

Aramis undid the laces on his braies with one hand, reaching out with the other to stroke Porthos' curls. Porthos sighed happily and nuzzled into Aramis' hand. He could feel himself immediately sinking into that calm space where only Aramis mattered.

“Master,” he breathed.

Aramis inhaled sharply with mild surprise. It was the first time he'd heard Porthos use the word since they had found out who they'd be escorting. He realised suddenly how disturbed they'd both been by the resurgence of Savoy. He stroked himself slowly, his skin still damp from the river. Aramis sucked in another breath, realising Porthos was not watching him. He was truly settled waiting for Aramis instead of seeking his own desires. It felt like such a long time ago that they'd been free enough of stress for Porthos to let go like this.

Porthos felt a sharp tug on his hair and immediately followed the pull, opening his mouth and taking Aramis in.

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


“Did you find them?” asked Athos, hearing d'Artagnan re-enter the clearing behind him.

“Yes,” he answered, his voice slightly hoarse.

Athos turned in surprise at the tone. D'Artagnan's cheeks were flaming red and he looked very dazed. Athos stifled a laugh and moved the pot off the fire. He set it down, clear of the flames and rose to greet d'Artagnan.

“I take it they're at it again?” Athos asked.

“They were just stood against a tree kissing when I left but it was so...” he trailed off.

Athos stepped closer and lay a hand against d'Artagnan's chest.

“Erotic?” he supplied.

“Yes,” d'Artagnan answered in a whisper.

Athos glanced around the camp and debated for a minute. They were less than four hours from Paris if they rode quite fast, which they all wanted to do after days of walking. He smiled and patted the ground beside him.

D'Artagnan sat down, still slightly stunned, in the spot indicated.

“What do you think they're doing now?” Athos asked slyly. “Still just kissing?”

“No Sir,” d'Artagnan murmured. “I think it was going somewhere. It was the kind...”

Athos looked sideways at him as he trailed off.

“Puppy?”

“It seemed to be the kind of kiss that would lead somewhere. The kind of kiss I dream about when I see you smile,” d'Artagnan said, lifting his chin.

Athos blinked in surprise and nodded slowly, understanding d'Artagnan's point. It was a gentle reminder that Athos was still not opening up as much as d'Artagnan wanted. Athos wanted that intimacy just as much and the idea of being back at home where he could devote time to d'Artagnan made him almost desperate to get there.

“We're less than a day from Paris,” Athos said softly.

D'Artagnan felt himself harden at the promise in those few words. He reached a hand out and rested it on Athos' thigh. He looked questioningly at him.

“This OK?” he asked nervously.

“Yes puppy. I'm perfectly fine with closeness. I might be hesitant to display physical intimacy in public but I enjoy you close to me and enjoy that you're wish it too,” Athos answered.

“I always wish to be close to you, Sir. As you know, I wish we were closer. But I'm not... I'm still not sure I want to display what you and I have to them just yet. They may suspect a lot of it but I don't wish...”

“You still wish to keep our relationship private?” Athos asked.

“Yes but... I'm not ashamed of it. You know that?” he asked quickly.

“I understand. I too wish to keep us private but not secret,” Athos replied. He briefly squeezed d'Artagnan's hand on his thigh before continuing cooking.

“Private not secret,” d'Artagnan echoed. “That's exactly it.”

The stew had finished cooking entirely and d'Artagnan and Athos were halfway through eating theirs when the others finally joined them.

It was the small hours of the morning by the time they began to settle for the night. D'Artagnan and Athos had remained within arm's reach the entire time. Aramis and Porthos were much the same. As was his habit, Aramis had taken Porthos' and in his own and they were resting in his lap.

“You seem much calmer,” d'Artagnan observed, nodding at Aramis.

“We are,” the marksman said softly. “I think it's really over. I know why it happened. Marsac is at peace. We have faced my demons and survived. I think it's really over.”

“I'm pleased for you, friend,” d'Artagnan replied. He smiled at the use of the word 'we', remembering what Athos had said all those weeks ago about them operating as a single unit.

“I know you still consider it unfair of us not to have told you all we could but I do hope you understand our reasons,” Aramis said quietly.

“In all honesty, yes. I do still find it unfair. It feels as though I am being singled out,” the Gascon admitted reluctantly.

“Athos?”

They all turned to look at Porthos who had spoken their friend's name as a question.

“Porthos?” answered Athos in confusion.

“I reckon we can tell 'im now that it's done,” Porthos replied, turning his dark eyes to Aramis who inclined his head in reply.

“I see what you mean Athos. It **is** infuriating when they do this no speaking thing,” d'Artagnan said teasingly.

Athos chuckled softly.

“Are you sure, Aramis?” Athos asked.

“I think it's become your decision,” Aramis answered. When Athos nodded once he turned to d'Artagnan. “Our position was leaked to the Duke of Savoy on the King's direct orders. You know they used that night to extract Cluzat?” Aramis asked.

“From what the Duchess said in Paris I assume it was because he suspected her,” d'Artagnan answered quietly.

“It was,” Aramis confirmed. “We... The King instructed our position to be leaked to distract the Duke, to draw him and his guards out of Chambéry and to leave Cluzat exposed.”

“The King? The King betrayed you?” d'Artagnan asked in horror.

“He instructed Captain Tréville to do so,” Aramis answered in a hollow voice.

“The Captain?” d'Artagnan asked sceptically. “I know Marsac was convincing but seriously? Captain Tréville?”

He looked at each of them in turn and found nothing to convince him otherwise in any of their faces.

“No,” he whispered.

“On the King's orders but yes,” Aramis said sadly. He was gazing at his and Porthos' clasped hands.

“Did he know?” d'Artagnan asked.

“No,” Aramis answered.

“He had to know it was a possibility,” Porthos corrected quietly.

“I don't suppose he thought too closely about it at all,” Aramis conceded, squeezing Porthos' hand gently.

The four of them fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts. Athos shook himself and offered to take first watch. Aramis nodded gratefully and took Porthos to rest in the line of trees.

  
  


  
  


Although he was lying down on the grass beside him, Athos could tell d'Artagnan was still brooding.

“Pup?” he asked softly.

“Why would he do it, Sir?” d'Artagnan asked in a whisper. He turned his head slightly to look up at Athos.

“He was ordered to,” Athos replied.

“But... They were his men,” d'Artagnan protested quietly.

“And Louis is his King,” Athos said softly.

“But...” d'Artagnan trailed off.

Athos looked down at him sadly.

“He had to, didn't he?” d'Artagnan asked miserably.

“Yes, puppy. He did. You sought to live a life driven by duty and honour. Obeying your orders when everything in you screams to do otherwise is honourable,” Athos explained gently.

He touched his fingers to the back of d'Artagnan's hand. The younger man clasped his hand tightly and frowned.

“But... Bonnaire?”

“Was a rare deviation from obedience to the crown. Porthos is worth it,” Athos said quietly.

D'Artagnan nodded thoughtfully. After a minute he sighed deeply and pulled Athos' hand up to press a kiss to his palm.

“At least it's over now,” d'Artagnan said quietly.

“Indeed,” murmured Athos. “Sleep now, puppy.”

  
  


  
  


  
  


When Athos and d'Artagnan were woken by Porthos for breakfast, the Musketeer was pleasantly surprised to see Aramis still looking well rested. He said as much as they shared a small meal of bread and cheese.

“Oh, Athos. It's over. There's no reason to fear now. We'll be in Paris by the end of the day. Perhaps on vacation by the end of the week,” he said dramatically, looking into the distance. “Somewhere we can enjoy the sun, the heat, perhaps a lake?”

He exchanged a heated glance with Porthos as memories flowed between them. D'Artagnan felt his cheeks growing warm catching the expression they shared. There was absolutely nothing platonic about it. Athos cleared his throat loudly, causing Aramis and Porthos to chuckle.

“The sooner we leave, the sooner we can get home and the sooner we can leave again,” Aramis said, pulling himself to his feet.

Together the four of them broke camp, working together in a comfortable silence. There was an energy between them all, excited to get home. It had been an extremely tense mission and the need for secrecy had weighed heavily on them all. Even the horses felt it, trying hard to encourage their riders up to a canter.

By the time they entered the Musketeer garrison late afternoon, all four men were sweating and their horses were grateful for the rest. They hadn't been able to bring themselves to take long rests, growing more and more boisterous the closer they got to home.

All four climbed off their horses, retrieving their weapons. Jaques, their stable boy frowned at the heat coming off their mounts but quickly withdrew, leading the animals away.

“Wait here. I will see the Captain and-”

“You four! Come!” called Tréville from the balcony, cutting Athos off.

They walked up to Tréville's offices in high spirits, bumping shoulders with each other, a bounce in their step. They faltered, however, seeing the Captain's face. Athos closed the door behind him and joined the others in front of his desk.

“Where the hell have you been?” Tréville demanded. “Truyart has been murdered.”

 


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Musketeers depart to find out who killed their retired brother

The streets of Paris echoed with the thunder of hooves as the four of them roared out of the city. Captain Tréville had received word the day after they left Paris with the Duchess that Truyart, the former Musketeer scout they had met in Troyes had been found in a shallow grave behind the inn on Friday night, the day after he'd met with Athos and Aramis.

None of them spoke as they rode and they rode fast and hard. They didn't stay off the roads this time. They had no use for secrecy. If their errand had been discovered, there was nothing they could do with the Duchess back among the group. If their errand had not been discovered, there was no reason for four vengeful Musketeers to be hiding among the trees.

Each time they rested the horses, Aramis and Porthos immediately began to practice with their swords, burning off excess energy. D'Artagnan stayed close to Athos' side who was brooding and barely speaking.

They reached the town of Montereau just as dawn was breaking. All four of them had become utterly exhausted, pure fury driving them through the night. Aramis and Porthos had visited before, knowing an inn that would be able to care for their four horses.

While Aramis and d'Artagnan made sure the horses were well looked after, Athos went to see about rooms for the day. They all united in the common room of the inn where Porthos had managed to procure some hot breakfast for them all.

“They're changing the bedding in two adjoining rooms for us now. Should be ready by the time we're finished,” Athos said quietly.

Porthos bumped Aramis with his shoulder when he didn't seem to have heard.

“What if it **was...** him?” Aramis asked.

“Then 'praps he should have a terrible accident when we find him,” Porthos growled quietly.

“If only,” Athos murmured.

“How do we find out?” d'Artagnan asked.

“I'm honestly not sure. I don't think Aramis and I should interview anyone just in case we're recognised. I think it would be too much of a coincidence for those observing,” Athos answered, keeping his voice low.

“We'll talk about it later,” Porthos said quietly.

They finished eating in silence and after a few more minutes, the maid arrived to inform them their rooms were ready. They split up into their normal pairings but left the door between their rooms open.

D'Artagnan curled into Athos' side tightly, feeling the older man's tension.

“Can I help you, Sir?” he asked softly.

“I assume you mean outside our duty? What are you asking?” Athos murmured.

“Is there... I wondered if there was anything I can do to relieve tension that nobody else could given our... us,” d'Artagnan said nervously.

Athos sighed deeply and turned onto his side, facing d'Artagnan.

“I don't deserve you,” he murmured. He raised his hand to stroke the hair back from d'Artagnan's forehead.

“You're the best man I know,” d'Artagnan answered, shrugging. When Athos opened his mouth to answer, d'Artagnan cut across him. “Regardless of what you think, you haven't met yourself. I have. I won't have you saying bad things about my Papa.”

Athos chuckled softly and dipped his head to kiss him softly, taking the Gascon by surprise. He gently began to move his lips against d'Artagnan's, exploring his mouth lazily, smiling against him as he felt the man open to him.

D'Artagnan felt himself melt against Athos. He leaned forwards, feeling Athos' arm encircle him, holding him close. They just kissed gently, neither one wishing to push the moment beyond this peaceful connection. Athos' body relaxed bit by bit, the simplicity and peace of having his d'Artagnan in his arms settling in him like still water.

After a few minutes, Athos finally broke the kiss gently. He opened his eyes to see d'Artagnan's eyes mirroring the tranquillity he was now feeling.

“Thank you,” Athos whispered. “You being mine helps me.”

“Rest, Papa. Let us rest now,” d'Artagnan murmured softly.

They fell asleep within minutes, remaining on their sides, face to face, arms loosely draped across each other.

  
  


  
  


In their adjoining room, Aramis and Porthos were in exactly the same position but weren't at all relaxed. They'd been staring in tense silence at one another since they'd gotten into bed. Neither man needed words to express what was upsetting them. Their scout killed the day after they'd met him? They were going to be in Troyes investigating only two days before the Duke and Duchess were due to meet there.

“So close,” Aramis whispered, his voice quavering with suppressed tears.

“Sire?” Porthos asked. His hand came up to cradle Aramis' face.

“We were so close to it being truly over, Porthos. So close,” he continued in a whisper, a tear trickling down his cheek.

Porthos swiped at it with his thumb. He didn't have any words of comfort. He, too, had thought everything was over. They were there, in Paris, almost home. Aramis had made his peace with Savoy, the Duchess. Everyone who was important knew the truth of what happened and had dealt with it. They had been, as Aramis had said, so close.

Time passed as they gazed at each other. They couldn't look away, couldn't relax. Eventually sheer exhaustion forced them both into a fitful sleep. Neither of them were able to stay asleep long and neither changed position.

When Athos and d'Artagnan stirred mid-afternoon, they were both already awake, still unable to find rest. They barely ate when Athos procured them another meal at the inn downstairs.

Athos and d'Artagnan went to collect the horses while Porthos and Aramis made sure they had all their belongings.

“I wish we could help them,” d'Artagnan said, sadly.

“Indeed,” Athos murmured. “I truly thought we were all past this. It pains me to see them hurting like this.”

“Can we help, do you think? I don't think they'd like to talk about it. Should we distract them? Talk about other things?”

Athos smiled ruefully and touched his fingers against d'Artagnan's forearm.

“You're such a good puppy. Always eager to help,” he said, his voice only just audible.

D'Artagnan smiled tenderly at him and nodded.

“I don't believe so, no. We can ask but I think they would prefer to distract themselves with finding out what happened to Truyart. I, too, understand the comfort of burying yourself in work,” Athos said, a smile playing at his lips.

“I think we should try and camp overnight,” d'Artagnan said thoughtfully. “I don't believe they've rested much and I feel it would be best to arrive in Troyes after resting rather than at the end of a hard day.”

Athos smiled.

“I agree. Excellent planning,” he said quietly. D'Artagnan couldn't stop the blush that came to his cheeks at the obvious pride in Athos' voice.

 

 

 

Athos pushed them all hard that afternoon and into the evening. Their horses bore up extremely well, cantering evenly along the roads. Aramis and Porthos were grateful for the pace, concentrating on their mounts stopping them from thinking too hard.

As night fell around them, Athos led them from the road about twenty miles outside Troyes without comment. It did not, however, go unnoticed by any of them that he chose to find a camp site south of the road, well away from where they had previously journeyed with the Duchess.

The trees were much closer together here and it was a while before they found a clearing large enough to tether all four horses and give them room to lay down. It had the advantage of pushing them deeper into the trees where they wouldn't be discovered. Aramis didn't protest when Athos gestured for him and Porthos to sleep first. They both retreated well inside the tree line and lay down again, shedding their doublets as the summer heat was still making the air warm among the trees.

Aramis again settled face to face in Porthos' arms. Porthos closed his eyes when he felt Aramis bury his face against his chest. There was a tremor running through Aramis' body that Porthos recognised as him once again trying not to cry. He brushed Aramis' hair back from his face, tipping his head back. Dipping his own, he kissed Aramis hard, breaking through whatever tumultuous thought pattern was distressing him.

Aramis gasped against Porthos' sudden kiss and his hands clutched at his lover's back when he took the opportunity to press his tongue into Aramis' mouth. Porthos growled softly, his hands running up and down Aramis' back. He rolled Aramis onto his back and finally broke the kiss, staring down intensely at him.

“Mi vida?” panted Aramis in surprise.

“You need to sleep,” Porthos growled. His eyes raked up and down Aramis' body pointedly.

“Ohh,” Aramis breathed, recognising the look in his eye. He arched his back enticingly.

It was all the invitation Porthos needed. He lowered his head again and kissed him passionately. It was a bruising, aggressive all-consuming kiss. Aramis moaned against Porthos' mouth, his arms coming up to encircle his lover and pulling his body down to press against his own. Aramis arched his back again, pressing them together. He raised one arm to pull Porthos' hair enough to separate their mouths for a moment.

“Porthos,” he whispered hoarsely. “I want you to fuck me, hard, and feel you spend inside me.”

“Mmm. Thank you Sire,” Porthos growled. He felt Aramis release his hair and he lowered his head to Aramis' neck, biting him suddenly at corner of his jaw, just below his ear.

Aramis moaned loudly and writhed beneath Porthos' body, feeling his lover press down against him, grinding their pelvises together.

Suddenly Porthos pulled himself off Aramis, rocking back onto his knees. He undid his breeches and small-clothes in seconds, beckoning to the still breathless Aramis on his back.

Aramis gracefully moved onto his hands and knees and crawled enticingly towards Porthos who had drawn his cock out of his clothes and was stroking himself, hardening rapidly at the look of lust in the black eyes staring at him.

Aramis quickly took Porthos into his mouth without preamble. He moaned wantonly, feeling Porthos harden, filling his mouth, stretching his lips. His lover's broad hands landed on Aramis' hair and tugged sharply, drawing him closer. He heard him groan and gagged in surprise as Porthos pressed at the back of his throat.

Porthos pulled Aramis most of the way off his thick cock and looked down at him. He couldn't stop himself groaning at the sight of Aramis gazing up at him, his black eyes glittering, his lips stretched wide around him.

“Got no oil. If you want my cock, you're going to need to make sure it's nice and wet,” he growled quietly.

Aramis moaned and sank his mouth onto Porthos hungrily. He was a challenge to suck at the best of times but when Porthos wanted to be taken deeply Aramis always felt the flutter of nerves.

The darker man felt Aramis' eagerness but knew how difficult it was for him. He gripped the dark waves tightly in his hands and tugged sharply, pressing at the back of his mouth insistently. Feeling Aramis relax under his hands he pulled again, pressing himself closer, feeling his lover's throat open for him. The moan from Aramis vibrated through his cock, sending shocks from the tips of fingers to his very toes.

The marksman felt the painful lump in his stomach melting as Porthos took control. He'd never let Porthos be the dominant one when they were on assignment before but he was struggling to hold himself together. Porthos' tight grip on his hair and the firm pressure he was putting against his throat felt like being knitted back together.

Porthos recognised the shift in Aramis' attitude and used his grip to slowly take Aramis' mouth, giving him less and less room to control the depth. Each time he pressed further into Aramis' throat, forcing the tight passage apart to allow him access.

He groaned loudly, feeling Aramis' nose finally pressed into the curls. Holding him there for a few seconds he felt Aramis gag slightly and quickly drew him off. A long line of saliva came from Aramis' panting mouth, connecting to Porthos.

“That should do it. Don't you think?” Porthos asked, not releasing his grip on Aramis' hair.

Aramis didn't reply, he simply nodded in silence, his eyes hooded with desire. He began to tremble as Porthos knee-walked around him to settle behind him. He turned to watch him and inhaled sharply as Porthos shook his head. Quickly turning back to look away he felt the butterflies beginning as Porthos' hands quickly reached around and undid the laces on his breeches and under-clothes.

Porthos kept his movements perfunctory and tried hard to keep the affection out of his hands. Making this something romantic would stop this being an escape for Aramis. He needed to feel the burden lifted, if only for a short while.

A whimper passed Aramis' lips against his will as Porthos drew his clothes down to his knees, exposing his bare buttocks to the forest and Porthos' gaze. It was as though he could feel the heat of Porthos' eyes passing across his pale skin. Probing fingers appeared at his mouth and without conscious thought, he opened his mouth, suckling obediently on them.

“Good slut,” Porthos whispered, removing his fingers and pressing against Aramis' entrance with his index finger.

The whimper his words caused were quickly cut off by the naked want in his moan when Porthos' finger spread him open.

Porthos gently moved his finger in and out of Aramis, adding more of his own saliva on each movement. Even with the saliva, he knew this was going to hurt Aramis. His cock was thick enough even when they did have oil. However, Aramis was in full knowledge that when he made his request. Porthos steeled himself and added a second finger, twisting gently.

Aramis shuddered, his arms shaking. He, too, was considering the extra discomfort this was going to cause. His muscles were well practised at opening for Porthos' fingers but the sensitive tissues were not as welcoming without the slippery oil. He needed this, though. He needed to lose himself in his lover's hands. There was a part of him that needed the coming pain to escape. Nobody in the world could do this for him. Nobody but Porthos.

When Porthos finally added a third finger, the wanton moan that it drew from Aramis was a thing of pure beauty. He could hear the hunger in it, the desire. It was a rarity for Aramis to crave the discomfort and loss of control but clearly, here it was. Porthos reached out and pressed heavily on the back of Aramis' head, pressing his face to the grass.

Whimpering again, Aramis obediently lowered his head and shoulders to the floor, suddenly feeling that lump in his stomach melting into nothing. His entire body relaxed, settling entirely into Porthos' control.

“Oh good slut,” Porthos groaned, feeling the muscles relax around his fingers.

He liberally coated himself with saliva and, withdrawing his fingers, pressed quickly at Aramis' entrance.

“Oh Porthos,” Aramis whimpered. “Please... Please.”

“S'gonna hurt,” Porthos warned, pressing in slightly, feeling Aramis' muscles resist slightly.

“Yes, yes. Please,” Aramis begged, his cheeks flaming in shame.

Porthos growled and settled his hands on Aramis' hips, pushing into him. He heard Aramis' hiss of pain but was reassured when it morphed into a moan, his entire body shuddering beneath him. Gradually he pushed into his lover, biting his lip at the sight of the ring of muscles stretched around his thick member.

Aramis winced at the pain, feeling the slight burn that Porthos always took such care to prevent. He pressed back against Porthos, craving the pain, needing the domination, the loss of control.

His lover responded immediately, pressing the rest of the way into him. They shared a quiet moan as Aramis' buttocks pressed back firmly against Porthos' solid thighs, fully connected. Porthos held still for a moment, knowing this moment always took Aramis' breath away, listening to him pant.

After a few seconds, Aramis shifted restlessly, needing Porthos and needing him now. He did not disappoint and with a deep growl, he pulled himself almost all the way out, quickly added another layer of saliva to himself, pressed back into him in one long, slow thrust.

“Please,” begged Aramis desperately, his voice almost inaudible.

Porthos' fingers tightened on his hips and he began to take Aramis roughly. He listened carefully to Aramis' moans and whimpers, making sure each hiss of pain was uttered in welcome. He dug his fingers in harder, hard enough to bruise, and felt a lurch of desire as Aramis hissed out a single “yesss” in response.

He growled deep in his chest, the noise bouncing around the trees, and pulled Aramis upright, one hand flat against his chest, supporting his weight and the other instantly wrapping around Aramis' hard and weeping cock.

“Not even touched you and you're aching for me,” he hissed into Aramis' ear.

“Yesss,” Aramis hissed again. He writhed in Porthos' grasp, pressing himself down against Porthos' cock still inside him.

“Spread your legs,” Porthos growled.

Aramis whimpered at the instruction, knowing the reason behind it. He obediently shuffled his knees apart, feeling himself lowered onto Porthos cock, forcing him deeper into Aramis' body.

“Like that?” Porthos groaned.

“Dios! Yes,” Aramis moaned.

He felt utterly helpless, Porthos seated so impossibly deeply. As his lover began to thrust up into him, the sudden almost violent movements made him feel defiled and truly taken. The hand on his cock was also less than kind. The strokes were erratic, rough, the grip slightly too tight to be comfortable. He couldn't stop the pleasure building, though. It felt as if he was being forced to enjoy the harshness and he moaned at the sensation.

“That's it. Let go,” Porthos murmured, his voice suddenly soft in Aramis' ear.

Almost immediately tears sprang to his eyes and Aramis nodded helplessly. He moaned in relief as Porthos roughly pushed him back to the ground and began to thrust in earnest.

It was less than a minute before Porthos recognised the hitch in Aramis' breathing meaning he was close to orgasm. He growled and increased the speed of his thrusting, feeling his own orgasm building.

Aramis lost himself entirely and was taken utterly unawares when his orgasm suddenly ripped through him, drawing a long drawn out moan from his lips. Seconds later he heard a deep growl from Porthos as he too found release.

  
  


  
  


  
  


“Papa,” gasped d'Artagnan, writhing.

Athos had settled with his back against a tree, d'Artagnan between his legs, back against his chest. Once again Athos was cruelly pinching his nipples, drawing small hisses and gasps of pain from the Gascon in his arms.

“You shouldn't be listening, dirty boy,” murmured Athos.

“But Papa... I tried not to,” d'Artagnan whimpered, his hands fluttering against Athos' hands on his chest.

“But you did and look what happened,” Athos whispered, his lips barely brushing against his ear. He lowered his hand to the prominent bulge in d'Artagnan's breeches, gently caressing it.

“I'm sorry, Papa,” moaned d'Artagnan.

“So what do you need?” Athos asked.

“I need... Please hurt me, Papa,” d'Artagnan whimpered and dropped his hands.

“Better,” Athos said softly. His fingers grew harsher, twisting, pinching, pulling on d'Artagnan's nipples.

The younger man writhed helplessly, obediently keeping his hands at his sides. Every moan, every growl drifting to them from the trees was turning him on all the more. His mind was filled with images of Athos taking him. Would he moan like that? Growl like that? That hiss of pain from the trees? Would Athos make him sound like that?

“Dirty boy,” Athos repeated, giving a sudden sharp twist to each nipple drawing a soft cry of pain from d'Artagnan. He released d'Artagnan's chest and began trailing his fingers up and down the man's thighs.

“Yes Papa,” d'Artagnan confirmed, his cheeks flaming. This was new... He felt embarrassed and ashamed but it was a warm, welcome feeling. He could feel Athos celebrating his depravity and he whimpered suddenly.

“Are you sorry?” Athos whispered, his voice like silk in d'Artagnan's ear.

“Yes Papa.”

“Would you like a reward for learning?” he asked.

“Oh yes, Papa. Yes please,” he breathed, turning his face to nuzzle into Athos' neck.

“Show me your cock,” whispered Athos.

D'Artagnan felt another wave of shame crash over him at his coarse language. It was one thing for Athos to touch him, to undo his clothes... It was quite another to show himself to him.

With trembling hands, he unlaced his breeches and small-clothes. He could feel raw hunger rolling off Athos as he shyly drew his member out of his clothes. He was already hard and he bit his lip at the appreciative murmur in his ear.

“Oh filthy boy. You haven't learned at all,” Athos said, his voice full of disappointment.

“Please Papa,” d'Artagnan gasped, returning his hands to his sides, unsure what to do. His cock was aching to be touched, the images in his head, the noises still issuing from the trees, the tingling in his overly sensitive nipples making him breathless with arousal.

“Does the pain turn you on, boy?” Athos asked, his voice still unbearably soft.

“Yes Papa,” d'Artagnan answered, nodding fervently.

Without warning, Athos fingers clamped around one of his nipples, squeezing harshly. D'Artagnan shuddered, arching his back, pressing to Athos' hand.

“Mmm. I like that dirty boy. Touch yourself while I hurt you,” Athos instructed, his mouth dry.

There was a sudden loud growl from in the trees that made them both inhale sharply.

“Oh my,” Athos murmured as d'Artagnan's trembling hand wrapped around his member. “I do hope you can find your release before they do.”

“Papa,” gasped d'Artagnan, unable to form the question.

“If you don't, I won't allow you to at all,” Athos hissed.

D'Artagnan moaned and then suddenly gasped as Athos' fingers returned to his sensitive nipples, brushing across the still painful nubs.

“You want me to hurt you don't you?” Athos whispered, the breath across his making d'Artagnan shudder again.

“Yes please. Please, Papa,” d'Artagnan begged.

Athos obliged immediately, harshly twisting them and drawing a low tortured moan from him.

“Come on then, dirty boy. Show your Papa how much you like him hurting you,” Athos murmured.

D'Artagnan shivered and began to stroke himself, feeling Athos' hungry eyes on the movement. The fingers on his nipples grew even crueller, making his whole body writhe, the pain sending sudden painful jolts down his body straight to his cock.

“Oh good boy. Being such a dirty boy for me. Showing me,” Athos whispered.

D'Artagnan felt his orgasm approaching suddenly out of nowhere. Another moan drifted out of the trees and he writhed again, seconds from release.

“Papa, Papa,” he chanted.

“That's it. My good boy,” Athos hissed. He gave d'Artagnan's nipples a sudden sharp twist and bit his own lip as it tipped the Gascon over the edge.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That got much dirtier than I expected...


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the Musketeers investigate Truyart's death, Athos and d'Artagnan realise not all is well in their world.

Athos was woken by the feeling of d'Artagnan tucking himself into his arms.

“Puppy?” he asked drowsily.

“Sorry,” d'Artagnan whispered. “Porthos just took over the watch for me and I wanted to sleep in your arms. Didn't mean to wake you.”

“Good puppy. Always sleep in my arms if you can,” Athos answered without opening his eyes.

D'Artagnan smiled and nestled in, feeling the increasingly familiar arms tighten around him.

  
  


 

 

“They seem to have come on leaps and bounds,” Aramis whispered, nodding at the pair. They were just about visible, only partly into the tree line.

“They do,” agreed Porthos, smiling softly.

Porthos had settled with a pack of cards, Aramis stretched out on the ground beside him.

“And you?” Porthos asked.

“Much better, mi vida. I got too deep into my own head. Thank you for pulling me out,” Aramis answered, smiling up at him.

“You're so welcome, Sire. It did the same for me to be able to serve you that way,” Porthos said. He reached down to stroke Aramis' hair. “Go back to sleep, mi sol.”

  
  


  
  


 

Aramis woke them all for breakfast at roughly eight in the morning. Athos smirked at him and Aramis frowned.

“Athos?” Getting no answer other than another infuriating smirk Aramis shook his head. “We **must** talk,” he teased.

As they ate, all four of them were shooting each other curious glances.

“Enough,” Porthos said suddenly, laughing. “From the way you guys are looking at us, you heard us last night?”

Athos smiled and d'Artagnan chuckled nervously beside him.

“We did,” he confirmed, grinning at Porthos.

“Sorry, lad,” Porthos said, shrugging.

“It's fine. Seeing the two of this morning, you seem much better rested. If that's what you needed to finally get some sleep, then good for you,” d'Artagnan answered, smiling. “Perhaps a little quieter next time, though, huh?”

Aramis and Porthos both laughed.

“We will certainly try, d'Artagnan,” Aramis said, inclining his head. “I can't thank you enough for the acceptance you've shown us. I don't think I can adequately express how much easier it makes our life to have you willing to see us as we are.”

“But you can take it back any time,” Porthos added seriously.

“Thank you, friend, but I won't. I don't think I speak out of turn when I say you are aware Athos and I are growing closer. Becoming more than brothers, as it were. I have some idea of how much easier my acceptance must mean to you given that you both accept us. I, too, would find life much harder if I could not share that with those closest to me,” d'Artagnan answered softly.

“About that, actually,” Aramis murmured, looking sideways at Porthos. “I hear my suggestion to talk through things with Porthos didn't really work. May I ask where the difference was?”

Porthos grew noticeably tense and fixed his eyes on Aramis. Noticing this, d'Artagnan hesitated, looking at Athos for guidance.

“You aren't as different as you would believe. I touch upon something challenging and the two of you look to us before answering. I've seen the way Athos calms you. I do the same for him,” Aramis said gently.

D'Artagnan nodded thoughtfully, conscious of Porthos growing immobile.

“Whatever the details and set up of each of our particular relationships, I believe they share a similar aspect. Should you be struggling with something unique to a somewhat uneven bond, you have someone in your life who lives it,” Aramis said. “Please be aware that if one of us cannot answer your questions, together we may be able to. I shall leave it there, my friend.”

D'Artagnan nodded, the frown still on his face, as Aramis and Porthos rose. Athos touched his knee gently, causing him to turn.

“What is it?” Athos asked softly. “Something about his offer is troubling you.”

“Porthos doesn't wish to share. Aramis would not force him, would he?” d'Artagnan asked, turning back to watch Porthos and Aramis who were speaking beside the horses.

“That is the kind of question Porthos does not wish to answer. He doesn't wish to discuss his own relationship. We, Aramis and I, wish for you to consider Porthos a way of feeling less confused about the aspects of our relationship that are similar,” Athos explained.

“Athos,” d'Artagnan said quietly. He took the other man's hand in his own and kissed it formally. “I do not feel confusion about our relationship out here.”

Athos frowned and suddenly all the guarded moments and distant looks in Paris came rushing back to him.

“Out here?”

“We... When we were in Paris. You wouldn't let me...” d'Artagnan trailed off. He took several deep breaths but was still unable to find the words.

“I wouldn't let you see Madame Bonacieux?” Athos asked in a whisper. D'Artagnan nodded. “I wouldn't allow anyone to leave.”

“I couldn't... I still feel like you're holding yourself away from me. You still don't seem to be willing to be.. intimate. Yet I also couldn't... I... Let me work it out,” d'Artagnan said quietly.

“D'Artagnan,” Athos said quietly. “But last night-”

“I feel like my physical desire for you clouds my judgement. I don't... I didn't intend to be intimate with you until my heart had caught up with my body. I just... I can't resist you,” d'Artagnan whispered.

“But... At the inn?” Athos asked, feeling desperation creeping into his heart.

“I would not change that moment for the world. That is what I need but I know you're struggling to get there. Just... Let me work it out please,” d'Artagnan said softly.

Athos frowned again but nodded, accepting his words. He brooded quietly and watched d'Artagnan rise. He felt a painful stab in his chest at the sight of d'Artagnan mounting up more than a foot away.

They'd shared so much. Athos had been so honest with him and made so many steps. Did he not understand how deeply Athos cared for him? Had he meant what he said about not wanting to be intimate?

Athos felt a wave of nausea at the idea of having taken advantage of d'Artagnan. He failed to believe that. It was physical intimacy d'Artagnan kept talking about. He'd have to just force himself through it. That moment in the inn where they'd just kissed? Did he not understand how difficult that had been for Athos? To let d'Artagnan in that much? Perhaps it hadn't meant as much to d'Artagnan.

Hadn't d'Artagnan said he needed his heart to catch up with his body? Well Athos needed his body to catch up with his heart. If he wanted to keep d'Artagnan he was just going to have force himself to catch up, however difficult he found it. He was greatly experienced at swallowing his own feelings to protect himself. This time he needed to swallow his feelings for d'Artagnan's sake. Taking things slowly had been his way of making sure he was safe from harm, just like Aramis had said. There was nobody else in the world he was willing to sacrifice himself for.

  
  


  
  


They stopped for lunch about five miles out from Troyes. Remembering why they were there, the four of them grew quieter. Athos still considered it advisable for himself and Aramis to stay out of the town. If they had been seen talking to the dead man only a day before he died, people may not talk to them. If they suddenly reappeared, now as Musketeers, it might arouse some suspicion about why they had visited out of uniform earlier.

While Athos was talking, d'Artagnan saw Aramis and Porthos exchanging dark looks.

“Brothers?” he asked, interrupting Athos, who looked up and followed his gaze.

“There is something that may have escaped your notice,” Aramis said, his voice tight. “Truyart. One of the first Musketeers?”

Comprehension dawned on Athos' face and he closed his eyes.

“What?” asked d'Artagnan. They'd already talked about the fury they all felt at a former Musketeer being killed. There was clearly something more though, going by Athos' reaction.

“So was 'e,” Porthos explained, nodding at Aramis.

D'Artagnan nodded, suddenly understanding.

“You two knew him. Before Athos joined,” d'Artagnan murmured. It wasn't a question.

“Yeah. We knew 'im,” said Porthos gruffly.

“You didn't say,” Athos said softly. “Even when we met with him...”

“We had other things on our mind,” Aramis answered.

“Why did he leave the regiment?” asked d'Artagnan.

“He was injured at Blavet. He was shot through the hand but continued to fight. By the grace of God his life was saved but his career was over. He lost too much use in his hand. He retired to Dijon,” Aramis explained quietly.

The four of them fell silent until Porthos cleared his throat.

“Should we check on her?” he asked.

“No,” said Aramis and Athos in unison.

“She's due to meet him there the day after tomorrow. The last thing we need is to come across them in the woods by coincidence,” Athos said quietly.

Porthos nodded in silence. He'd known that would be their answer but if they had slipped up somehow and caused the Duchess' life to be in danger, he felt bound to protect her.

As they finished eating, Aramis rose, giving Porthos a pointed look. Porthos followed and again, they were stood together speaking intensely to one another.

“What do you think that's about?” d'Artagnan asked.

“The same thing I'm about to say,” Athos replied quietly. “Look after yourself. Come back in one piece or I will be absolutely furious.”

D'Artagnan chuckled.

“Will do,” he confirmed, rising to join Porthos.

 

 

 

 

Aramis was positively frantic by the time Porthos and d'Artagnan returned. Even Athos was feeling the tension, sat immobile as he was. Aramis heard the horses before he saw them and it took all his willpower not to go running towards them.

The second they broke through the trees, though, he strode rapidly towards them. While Aramis silently greeted Porthos, resting their foreheads together the second he'd dismounted, Athos pulled himself to his feet. He took Porthos' horse from him and followed d'Artagnan to tend to them. He rested his hand on the younger man's shoulder and squeezed gently.

“Good to have you back,” he murmured softly, receiving a small smile in return.

The others joined them and Athos looked expectantly between Porthos and d'Artagnan.

“Doesn't seem to be related,” d'Artagnan reported. “Apparently he had lots of gambling debts.”

Aramis looked disbelievingly at Porthos.

“I know. Doesn't sound like 'im but there was people there confirming it. Apparently he'd been there for a week trying to get anyone who'd pause to play cards,” Porthos said, shrugging.

“This doesn't feel right,” Aramis murmured.

“People change,” d'Artagnan said gently.

“Not as much as we'd like,” Athos replied, studying Aramis' face. “You really think there is something wrong?”

“I don't know,” Aramis said, hesitating. “I haven't seen him for years.”

“But?” Athos asked, looking between the two.

Porthos shrugged and looked at Aramis who was still frowning.

“Aramis?” he prompted.

“Something,” Aramis confirmed, nodding slightly.

There was a tense silence between them all. Athos knew tactics, Porthos knew crime, d'Artagnan knew danger but Aramis. Aramis knew people. Last time they'd ignored Aramis' instincts about people, he had been left to see to Marsac alone. They weren't going to make that mistake again.

“Why don't we go to Dijon?” d'Artagnan suggested.

  
  


  
  


  
  


They had enough provisions to make camp in the eastern side of the forest of Aumont that night, about twenty miles south. They would need to hunt in the morning to get them to the next town. They spent a couple of hours practising duelling multiple opponents, taking it in turns to face all three of the others.

Once they began to settle, Porthos and Aramis volunteered to take first watch. Athos and d'Artagnan settled under a tree nearby, the Gascon stretched out on his side, his head on Athos' chest.

“You're tense,” he observed quietly, settling his arm gently across Athos' stomach.

“Indeed,” the Musketeer replied.

“Would it help you to talk about it?” d'Artagnan asked softly.

“No thank you, puppy,” Athos answered, stroking d'Artagnan's hair in silence.

“Anything I can do to relax you?” he asked, nuzzling Athos' chest gently.

“Sleep now, please,” Athos said flatly.

  
  


  
  


“You have a theory,” Porthos said suddenly.

Aramis started. He'd been staring into space but hadn't realised Porthos was watching him.

“Not a theory. Nothing so solid,” Aramis replied thoughtfully.

“Not ready to share?”

“Not with the others, no. Something just isn't right. Do you remember when he left? Why he moved out of Paris?” Aramis asked, frowning.

“To get away from it all, he said,” Porthos answered slowly.

“Yes. All of what, do you think?” mused Aramis.

“Remember at the farewell gathering? The Captain said he envied Truyart the simpler life.”

“Yes. I remember. That's exactly what is plaguing me. If he retired so far from Paris to seek a simpler life, why would he be so willing to scout on such a dangerous, sensitive mission years later?”

“You think he betrayed us?” Porthos asked, the shock evident in his voice. “Not him, surely? It all went so well.”

“It did go well. Remarkably so. Incredibly so. Unbelievably so.”

  
  


  
  


Athos and d'Artagnan had breakfast cooking by the time Aramis and Porthos rose. Porthos had laid traps while they slept and d'Artagnan had collected from them.

Aramis didn't share his thoughts with the others but d'Artagnan did comment some of the calm seemed to have left them both.

“He was a Musketeer” was the only answer Aramis gave.

They reached Châtillon-sur-Seine after a relatively easy day's ride, it only being twenty miles, cross country. Aramis had wanted to push on once they'd replenished their supplies but Athos disagreed. He told them he wanted them to spend the evening resting but had his own agenda.

He'd woken up to find d'Artagnan had moved away while they slept and he'd been distant all morning. He dearly wanted to spend some time together before they reached Dijon. If he was going to keep the man, he was going to have to force himself to get close.

 

 


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos tries out his plan to get close to d'Artagnan.

They stayed again at an inn that night, leaving their horses in the care of the stables. They booked two rooms but the four of them lingered in the common room, sharing wine and playing cards. It had Athos' desired effect, relaxing everyone somewhat. When they finally retired around midnight, Athos was silently pleased to see a slight sway to d'Artagnan's gait.

Closing the door to their room, Athos quickly stripped his weapons off, pausing to help d'Artagnan with his. The Gascon leaned forwards against Athos' body and sighed happily, inhaling him deeply.

“You don't seem drunk,” d'Artagnan murmured.

“You do,” Athos observed. He wrapped his arms around d'Artagnan's slim body and kissed him lightly. As hoped the younger man responded instantly.

D'Artagnan's arms came up and encircled Athos' neck and he pressed himself against the Musketeer, moaning softly. He followed willingly, allowing Athos to walk him backwards to the bed. As his legs hit the bed, he sat down heavily and looked up, suddenly startled.

Athos leaned over him, his hand outstretched but hesitated at the sudden distance he saw in the normally welcoming eyes looking up at him.

“Puppy?” he asked.

“You...” d'Artagnan started. He leaned back, away from Athos. “Why now? Why... why welcome me now?”

Athos blinked in surprise and stepped back, his arm falling awkwardly to his side.

“I... I apologise,” he said formally, taking another step back.

They stared at each other in silence for a long minute. Athos felt his desperation growing. The younger man was just sat where he'd landed, staring up at him. There were too many expressions passing across his face for Athos to track.

“You look... lost,” Athos said softly, yearning to reach out again.

“I don't... I can't think,” d'Artagnan said, frowning.

“You're tired,” Athos said, stepping forwards.

“I'm drunk,” d'Artagnan said grumpily. After a beat he raised his head and stared at Athos accusingly. “You got me drunk,” he said slowly. “You kept refilling my drink.”

Athos' face immediately closed down and he stood rigid. D'Artagnan regarded him steadily and his voice was quite level when he spoke.

“You told me we'd talk. Often and honestly. The first time I spoke about concerns and confusion, you shut me out. You won't talk to me. You won't kiss me on my terms. You don't let me in. You don't let me out. Then tonight, you got me drunk so that I wouldn't protest when you finally decided to...” he trailed off.

Athos just stared at him, expressionless. He had no words to answer. Everything he'd said was right. Athos had wanted to be close but without needing to be intimate. He felt a terrible lurch in his stomach when d'Artagnan rose and moved past him to collect his weapons.

“I'm going to stay with the others,” he whispered.

“Pup-.. D'Artagnan...” Athos said, also whispering.

“Good night, Athos,” he said, closing the door quietly behind him.

  
  


 

  
  


Porthos closed the door to the room he was sharing with Aramis and turned to find him staring intensely.

“Sire?” he asked in surprise.

“Try again,” Aramis said, his voice surprisingly soft.

“Master,” Porthos said quietly, dropping his eyes to the floor.

Aramis smiled and removed his hat, taking Porthos' from his hands. He hung them both up and began silently but gently divesting Porthos of his belts and doublet, leaving him in just his shirt, breeches and boots.

“Kneel for me please, boy,” Aramis murmured. He smiled affectionately when Porthos closed his eyes and did so in one smooth motion.

Aramis began to circle the silent form of Porthos while he removed his own accoutrements.

“I've neglected you recently, my love. I've been so conscious of not letting Savoy get to us that I have let the two of us slip into simply lovers,” Aramis murmured softly.

He watched Porthos' breathing slow as he settled. He held his hand out, smiling again when Porthos leaned into his hand, nuzzling his palm.

“My good boy. I love you so much, Porthos. I think, however, in recent weeks we have been content as lovers. You served me so beautifully, helping me escape out of my own head. I think it is time we served one another, remembering what it is we were escaping from. Remembering the reality of who we are to one another. Perhaps we have been distracted by our friend's somewhat more relaxed relationship. It's important that we remember we're not equal,” Aramis continued.

He smiled when he saw Porthos take a deep breath, exhaling slowly as serenity settled on him. It wasn't just words. They both considered the difference in power to be a core element of their relationship and it brought them both a great deal of peace when it was reaffirmed.

Aramis finally hung his coat up and walked to the bed, clicking his fingers as he passed the still form of his lover, who dutifully followed on his hands and knees.

He sat on the edge of the bed, parting his legs for Porthos who obediently moved between them and settled back on his heels.

“Up,” he whispered.

Porthos obediently raised himself up on his knees, his eyes still closed. A smile came to his lips when Aramis' hand was placed on his chest, sliding up over his collarbone and his neck to cradle his face. The other hand gently tugged his bandanna off and ran through the curls.

Aramis leaned forwards to press his lips against Porthos' ever so gently. They both sighed at the contact, a tiny chuckle running through them at the synchronised reaction.

A sudden tug on his hair made Porthos gasp and Aramis pounced. He quickly dominated the kiss, turning it into something possessive, searing. He bit sharply on Porthos' bottom lip, hearing him gasp again. Roughly, he thrust his tongue into Porthos' mouth, claiming him, forcing him to yield, as he always would.

There was a soft knock at the door.

“Whoever that is can fuck off,” swore Aramis as he reluctantly broke the kiss.

Porthos was panting slightly, his eyes still closed. There was another knock on the door and d'Artagnan's voice sounded through it.

“Aramis? Porthos? May I come in?”

The pitiful note in his voice was enough for Aramis. He sighed heavily and sat up. He was pained to see the mild panic setting in with Porthos. He hadn't opened his eyes but his hands had clenched at his sides and he was vibrating with tension.

“Still, my boy. Stay,” he murmured. He tightened his hand on Porthos' hair for a moment. “Mine. Understand?”

Porthos nodded and took a sharp breath in through his nose. Aramis had never ever exposed him like this to people but he was powerless to resist a direct order to stay. He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to stay calm as Aramis opened the door to find d'Artagnan stood holding his weapons.

“Can I stay with you two tonight?” he asked without preamble.

His eyes caught sight of Porthos' back, kneeling in silence. He opened his mouth to say something but suddenly Aramis was in his personal space, the black eyes glinting dangerously, challenging him to comment. D'Artagnan closed his mouth and pressed his lips together meaningfully. Aramis nodded once and moved to let him pass.

“What's going on?” Aramis asked as soon as the door was closed.

“I do not wish to spend the night with him,” d'Artagnan said quickly. Too quickly.

“Are you OK?” Aramis asked.

“Yes. I think so. I just... He... I don't know,” d'Artagnan admitted, his eyes still caught by Porthos who hadn't moved an inch.

Aramis frowned, also watching his lover. He crouched beside Porthos, his back to their Gascony friend and whispered words d'Artagnan couldn't hear. After a minute, Porthos stood, collected his doublet and belt and left without another word.

 

 

 

 

 

Athos hadn't moved when,  only  minutes later, Porthos quietly entered without knocking.  Athos  looked at him in surprise, expecting Aramis if anyone.

“Is he OK?” Athos blurted.

“Think so,” Porthos answered quietly, depositing his sword belt on a chair. “Master wants to talk to him but thought you might need some company.”

Athos was startled by him referring to Aramis as his Master. He'd heard it a few times but only ever when he was particularly under Aramis' spell, as it were. He realised with a pang of guilt that d'Artagnan's arrival must have interrupted an emotional moment between his friends. It seemed it wasn't only Athos needing to connect tonight.

“My thanks, friend,” Athos said. He was uncertain what to do. Porthos was looking slightly lost as if a rug had been pulled from under him. He wondered what they'd been doing and found himself aching to be alone with d'Artagnan so they might connect more emotionally.

“Wondering why he sent me?” Porthos asked.

Deciding it would be rude to tell Porthos exactly what he was wondering, Athos nodded in silence.

“Mast- He thought he'd be better at getting the lad to open up,” Porthos answered, frowning.

Athos could tell he'd realised he'd been referring to Aramis as his Master but made no comment on it.

“I hope that's true. I fear I have....” Athos began but trailed off.

Porthos shook himself, remembering why Aramis had sent him to talk to Athos. His instructions were to help and he could not deny Aramis anything. He strode past Athos and sat on the end of the bed.

“Gonna stand there all night?” Porthos asked.

Athos jumped and numbly followed, dropping his belt on the same chair and sitting beside Porthos.

“So? What 'appened?”

Athos sighed heavily.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Porthos replied, shrugging.

“How do you cope seeing Aramis fall in love with others?” he asked hesitantly.

To his surprise, however, Porthos just smiled.

“His life is with me. He will always come home to me. I know that. He knows that. He loves easily but I'm in his bones,” he answered. “Can I assume this is about Madame Bonacieux?”

“Not.. specifically. I just... I want him to have the things I can't give him. I want him to have a full and happy life. Marriage, children, should they be his wish. You know I struggle with love...” Athos trailed off. He was surprised how easy it was to open up to Porthos. Normally it was always Aramis he went to.

“Yeah. I know. You seem to be doing better, though?” Porthos asked gently.

He slid off the bed and crouched to remove Athos' boots for him. He batted Athos' hands away when he tried to stop him.

“I... I can let people in now. I trust you two with my life. I don't know... I trust him with my life, too but...”

“It's harder to trust someone with your heart,” Porthos finished, standing up and removing his doublet.

“Yes,” Athos confirmed sadly. “Do you think he loves her?” he asked suddenly, looking up at Porthos.

“Yes,” he answered honestly. “I think he might love you, too.”

“What? Love me? No. He... I...” Athos stammered, hating himself for sounding so unsettled.

“You don't know...” Porthos began. He sighed in frustration and sat heavily on the bed beside Athos.

“Porthos?” he prompted.

“You don't know what it's like, mate, to need... We're soldiers, yeah? We're more than that. We're Musketeers. We don't take shit from anyone and we are the biggest, the best. We fight the hardest and shout the loudest. Yeah?”

“We are elite, yes,” Athos said, nodding.

“You don't know what it's like to be that, every single day, but also need... You've got the occasional physical desire for submission that we've met. I need to **live** like that. I think a significant part of d'Artagnan needs that. It's... exactly the opposite of everything you're supposed to be. It's... God, Athos. You don't know what it's like to hate yourself for needing it and then, out of nowhere, find someone who not only accepts that need in you but actually answers it,” Porthos said quietly.

Athos didn't answer for long minutes. He felt Porthos growing tense but lay a hand on his knee so he knew Athos was just thinking.

“I'd never thought of it that way,” he finally said.

“Finding that... The peace... Feeling that hand on your shoulder all the time, every day, every moment... It's hard not to fall in love with that. I loved him before I found that in him but once we'd... When he told me I was his... I couldn't help but love him all the more. It's irrevocable. I reckon d'Artagnan is feeling some of that,” Porthos said, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

“But... What if I can never love him?” Athos asked sadly.

Porthos hesitated before draping an arm over Athos' shoulders. He felt him stiffen for a moment before settling slightly against Porthos' side.

“You love us, right?” Porthos asked.

“Yes but not romantically,” Athos said, frowning.

“Then why can you not love d'Artagnan? I didn't say he loves you romantically but I 'fink he's moved beyond curious and is attached to you now,” Porthos replied.

“I don't want to let him go,” Athos said, leaning more heavily against the steady bulk of Porthos.

They sat quietly for a few moments.

“So... What happened tonight?” Porthos asked gently.

Athos groaned in frustration and stood. He began pacing slowly back and forth in front of Porthos.

“I've been selfish. I... I have been protecting myself. You know I struggle to be physically intimate? To open myself to someone that way?”

Porthos nodded in silence, watching him pace.

“In all our... interactions I have kept myself somewhat isolated,” Athos said, a faint flush creeping up the back of his neck.

“You've been making it all about him?” Porthos supplied.

“Nicely put. Yes,” Athos confirmed. “He has become frustrated by this and I feel... I do not want to open myself up that way if he is going to disappear to Constance.”

Porthos frowned but didn't comment.

“Aramis recommended I not place myself in a situation where d'Artagnan has the power to hurt me,” Athos said, finally stopping and facing Porthos.

“I fail to believe he ever said that,” Porthos replied, his eyebrow raised. He studied Athos for a moment who was avoiding his gaze. “I imagine he said something along the lines of sex where one person is in love and the other isn't will do the first person harm,” he said, shrewdly.

“He told you?” Athos asked.

Porthos laughed suddenly, the sound filling the room and making Athos jump.

“No,” he said gently, the smile still on lips. “I just know him. I think he's right.”

“So you, too, think I should distance myself from him?”

“You're so bloody certain he's going to skip away to Madame Bonacieux,” Porthos said gruffly, shaking his head.

“Why wouldn't he?”

“You didn't listen to a word I said. Did you not hear me when I said how rare it is to find someone who can offer us what you and Aramis do?” Porthos asked quietly.

Athos blinked at his tone and realised Porthos had shared something remarkably private that he had unwittingly ignored. He sighed heavily and removed his doublet. Sitting back down he returned Porthos' gesture, wrapping his arm around the broad shoulders of his friend.

“I apologise, my friend. I should never have said that. It is hard for me to see myself as remarkable. I struggle to see myself in the same way I see you two. The surety and the grace with which you serve him astounds me. I cannot imagine myself controlling another in the skilful and inspiring way he does you,” Athos said softly.

Athos wasn't surprised to feel the larger man leaning more heavily against him. Whatever head space he'd been in with Aramis had allowed him to open up and Athos was unsurprised to find it making him seek comfort.

“What do you suggest I do?” Athos asked.

“Talk to him. Talk about why you're holding yourself at arm's length, what he wants from her, what you want from him. Talk about it all,” Porthos answered.

They sat together without moving for several long minutes until there was a soft knock at the door.

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


“Well?” asked Aramis, sharper than intended.

“I'm sorry... Did I interrupt something?” d'Artagnan asked, his eyes on the door Porthos had just left through.

“Yes. But you seem in need of us so make use of your friends. What's going on?” Aramis asked. He sat in one of the chairs by the fire and gestured to the other.

D'Artagnan took a deep breath. Aramis was right. He'd clearly robbed his friends of some time alone and he'd better make the best of it.

“I think he is simply using me,” he said boldly as he sat down.

“What makes you think so?” Aramis asked.

“He does not share himself with me. It is only I that... In our private moments together I am never able to reach him. He told me he would not prevent me from seeking love with others yet he does not allow me to see Constance. He will not permit me to seek what I need from him and yet prevents me from finding it with others. When I asked for some time to think about this, he shut me out entirely and then tonight got me intentionally drunk so that I would not argue when yet again he used me for his own satisfaction without allowing me to touch him,” d'Artagnan said in a rush, growing angrier as he spoke.

Aramis tilted his head and gazed at him thoughtfully.

“That's... complicated,” he said finally. “I can address one point easily. Athos does not share himself with just anyone. He doesn't like to become exposed that way. If he suspects you are intending to leave him for another or doesn't feel you are committed to him, he will never feel safe enough with you to share that part of himself.”

D'Artagnan started to protest but cut himself off immediately. He realised that in Paris, Athos **had** begun to open up. He'd said he wanted to be alone somewhere to fully enjoy it.

“So he...safe?”

“Yes. He does not trust easily. Can I safely assume that you feel the same sensation I do in Porthos' arms when you are in Athos'? That sensation that you are safe and protected?” Aramis asked quietly.

“Oh yes,” d'Artagnan said, nodding fervently.

“Athos doesn't feel that with anyone. Not even us, really. For him to make himself truly vulnerable he needs much more. He needs to know he is with someone who will never betray him,” Aramis said softly.

“So that's why...” d'Artagnan trailed off and Aramis sat in silence while d'Artagnan thought it through.

The only time Athos had come close to being physically intimate himself had been in Paris in their friend's home. That was somewhere he felt safe but even then, there were others nearby. He'd waited until Paris to kiss him. When he said waiting until they were in his chambers, it had been a mask. He'd wanted to be somewhere he knew they would not be interrupted or overheard. One less thing to worry about. He realised suddenly how little he'd been listening to Athos' feelings on physical intimacy. D'Artagnan hated himself in that moment for trying to push Athos into something he was unsure about.

“Hey, hey,” murmured Aramis, watching d'Artagnan's face crumple. “Come back.”

“I have been so inconsiderate. I have let my desire for him cloud my judgement. I ignored him when he told me basically the same as you just have. How can I ever make it right?” d'Artagnan asked desperately.

“You just apologise and don't make the same mistake again. That's all,” Aramis said simply. “Now. The other things? I think Madame Bonacieux is one?”

D'Artagnan sighed and slumped back in his chair.

“Yes. I think I love Constance. Simple, boy meets girl love. Yet it isn't simple. She has her husband and I... Athos,” he finished.

“You have Athos. You do,” Aramis insisted.

“So what do I do? Athos told me he would not prevent me from seeking love and affection. He just wanted to be kept informed. But then in Paris... I could not even visit her,” d'Artagnan said, throwing his hands up in frustration.

“None of us could leave the house,” Aramis said gently. “They're not related.”

“Weren't they? Even then... He wouldn't let me be intimate with him but I'm also not to seek out others. He keeps me for himself but.. but...”

“Doesn't use you?”

D'Artagnan couldn't hide the blush that came to his face at those words.

“Do you think it's easy for him? He doesn't know if he can provide everything you need so he wants you to find the things he can't. On one hand he's trying to keep you to himself and get to the point that he can share all that he can with you. On the other hand, though, he is struggling to get to that point when he feels you have one foot out the door,” Aramis explained quietly.

“But he's the one who-”

“Told you not to deny it. I know. I know he probably did. Because he's gallant to a fault and would always put you first. Over his own feelings,” Aramis said gently. “Do not hurt him, d'Artagnan.”

The Gascon's head snapped up and he stared in shock at Aramis.

“I wouldn't!” he protested.

“Not intentionally. Please do not take offence at my words but Athos is one of my oldest friends. If he feels more for you than you do, please do not take advantage of him. I understand how easy it might be to be swept away by having previously unmet desires suddenly filled but please... protect him,” Aramis said. His words were stern but his voice was gentle.

D'Artagnan frowned.

“I will,” he said in a whisper.

“Thank you. Now my advice to you is to talk to him. If you're concerned about Constance, talk to him about her,” Aramis said, sitting up.

“I tried. I asked for some time to work out what I was feeling and he just shut me out,” d'Artagnan protested.

“I haven't seen him shut you out at all. I saw how he looked at you when you rode to Troyes. I saw how he touched you when you returned. I saw you sleep side by side again that night,” Aramis countered. “Could it be that you underestimated how keenly Athos feels rejection and you phrased your request for time in such a way he misunderstood you?”

“I... Yes. I can see that,” d'Artagnan answered, staring into space. He replayed the conversation over in his mind. He hadn't made any attempt to reassure Athos he wanted to continue with him.

“OK. So what happened tonight?” Aramis asked.

“He got me drunk to... to...” d'Artagnan struggled to find the right words.

Aramis laughed suddenly.

“Do not paint our Athos as a nefarious villain trying to seduce the young innocent d'Artagnan out of his smalls. You have said yourself you wish for things to move along faster,” Aramis said.

D'Artagnan chuckled weakly.

“I understand, though. He sought closeness with you but instead of talking to you about whatever was stopping him, he chose to get you drunk. He was very much in the wrong but I can imagine it was the thought of potentially missing out on your affection and closeness that caused him to make such an error,” Aramis continued. “Don't judge him too harshly but don't let this go without comment.”

D'Artagnan nodded.

“Did I miss anything?” asked Aramis.

D'Artagnan laughed.

“I don't believe so,” he answered. “Are you dismissing me?” he teased.

“I am not the person to whom you should be talking,” Aramis said, inclining his head.

They rose and walked together to Athos' room. Aramis knocked once and entered to find Porthos and Athos sat on the bed. He smiled softly to see Athos' arm around Porthos. It appeared not everything was undone and his lover was still very calm.

“Athos. You might be looking for this,” he murmured, gently pushing d'Artagnan ahead of him. “And I do believe you have something of mine I would very much like back.”

 

 


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos and d'Artagnan finally have a heart to heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 101 Kudos?? I've been really poorly for the last few days and have barely written a thing but to log back on this evening to find 101 Kudos??
> 
> I am utterly blown away by the support you guys have given this work! So much love for you all! Your comments and your kudos make me a better writer and for that I will be ever thankful x

D'Artagnan closed the door behind them and deposited his belt on the chair before sitting down beside Athos, close enough that their hips touched.

“Who should go first?” d'Artagnan asked, trying to rise a smile from Athos.

“I should,” he replied softly, attempting to stand but d'Artagnan pulled him back down by the wrist.

“You know I think best when I'm beside you,” d'Artagnan pleaded softly. “One of the things I'm struggling with is distance. Please don't create any more,” he added, turning to Athos as he sat back down.

“Oh puppy,” breathed Athos. Out of instinct he wrapped his arms around d'Artagnan and pulled him close. He sighed heavily as he felt d'Artagnan turn to nuzzle his face into his neck. After a long minute where they simply held each other, Athos gently pulled back and studied d'Artagnan carefully.

“I apologise, most unreservedly, for my behaviour today. I should not have used wine as a crutch to get close to you. You deserve better. Can you forgive me for my appalling decision?” he asked.

“Yes. I hope you understand why I was so angry,” d'Artagnan replied carefully. When Athos nodded d'Artagnan smiled at him. “Don't do it again, OK?”

Athos chuckled softly.

“I won't. Will you explain why you were.. reconsidering us?” Athos asked, his face guarded.

“I wasn't, Athos. Not really. I just had a moment of doubt about what it is that 'we' are,” d'Artagnan explained.

“Can you explain why?” Athos asked, taking d'Artagnan's hand.

“I misunderstood why you hold yourself back from me. I do understand it's partly because I never gave you the option of explaining. I felt, however that... That you were just taking what you wanted from me without offering yourself up to me,” d'Artagnan said softly.

He risked a glance to Athos' face and saw his unemotional mask back in place.

“I think I am right, in part. You are holding me at arm's length. I understand some of your reticence at getting physically closer while we are travelling but all I asked was the freedom to kiss you when we're alone. That's all I asked for and you make it so difficult,” d'Artagnan pressed gently.

“I understand,” Athos said softly. He nodded slightly. “I apologise for making you feel pushed away. I promised I would work on it but I admit I have not done so. I have thought about it many times. When you settle in my arms. When I see you sleeping at my side each time I wake. When you follow me when I move without realising. There are moments when you smile at me and I... I will redouble my efforts,” he promised.

D'Artagnan raised his eyebrows expectantly and Athos chuckled. He leaned forwards and pressed his lips gently against d'Artagnan's. He smiled against his Gascon, feeling his happy sigh. They separated and d'Artagnan blushed slightly.

“May I ask what else holds you come back from me?” d'Artagnan asked, struggling not to be moved by Athos' kiss.

Athos again made to stand and this time d'Artagnan didn't stop him, giving him the room to think. He watched quietly as Athos paced for a minute before answering.

“I fear what may happen in the future. I meant it when I told you I do not wish to see you live without someone loving you in return. You were so keen to see Madame Bonacieux when we visited Paris I thought...” he trailed off without looking at d'Artagnan.

“Sir,” pleaded d'Artagnan. Athos took a deep breath.

“I grew concerned that she is where your heart truly lies and that I am... simply new and interesting,” Athos admitted.

“I assure you, Athos. That is absolutely untrue. I am so very sorry you were ever given that impression. What made you feel that way?” d'Artagnan asked, reaching for Athos' hand. He winced when Athos didn't take it.

Athos sighed and looked at the ceiling for a moment. He was out of practice being honest like this and it hurt.

“We had... We were talking about time alone. I was looking forwards to sleeping skin to skin with you again and yet...”

“You feel I went immediately to her?” d'Artagnan guessed sadly.

“She was your first instinct, yes. Even after we'd slept and shared... You still sought her,” Athos confirmed, looking away.

“I apologise, Athos. I should have been less careless about how you are affected by my words,” d'Artagnan said quietly. He stood and pulled Athos into his arms. He stroked Athos' back gently and felt him shuddering with unidentified emotion. After a minute of silence he gently pulled him back to the bed and they sat back down, hands clasped.

“So what of Constance? How do we proceed there?” d'Artagnan asked.

Athos' body immediately tensed at his side.

“If you wish for us to part so you may pursue a bond with her-” Athos began but was immediately cut off by a sudden kiss.

D'Artagnan felt Athos' surprise but was pleased to feel him press back. He moved his lips gently, probing at Athos' mouth, feeling his beard tickling his chin. He drew away slowly and searched Athos' eyes.

“I do not wish for us to part,” d'Artagnan said softly. “You... you fill a hole in me I didn't know I had. Now I feel you gradually filling it, I realise it's always been there. I do not think I can ever deny it again. You are growing increasingly essential to me.”

“And yet?” pressed Athos, fearing the answer.

“Yet I do think I love Constance,” d'Artagnan said quietly. “She has a husband. I feel as though you fear I will run away with Constance because she is free to love me and you feel you may not be able to. She is a married woman, Athos. She is not free to do so.”

“She... I have known her a very long time. I know that while she is a remarkably honourable woman, she is not... conventional. I can envisage her taking you as a lover outside of her marriage,” Athos argued.

“Then what do you propose?” d'Artagnan asked.

“I do not propose you make a choice,” Athos answered, meeting d'Artagnan's eyes. “I propose you and I continue to move forwards but we both become better at recognising when the other may be hurting. I ask that you and I spend at least one night together a week when we're in Paris to continue... growing.”

D'Artagnan chuckled softly and saw a red flush creeping up Athos' neck.

“Perhaps two, Sir? Two minimum per week, in addition to the nights we are in the field,” he suggested.

“I would like that,” Athos answered.

Silence fell between them and d'Artagnan squeezed Athos' hand gently.

"I know you've apologised for this evening but I would like to try and understand why you did it," he said.

Athos inhaled sharply and tried to stand again. This time d'Artagnan kept hold of his hand and tugged him sharply back down.

"I... You... I am not a shy retiring maiden afraid of sex," Athos began. D'Artagnan laughed and Athos found the sound leeched some of his tension out and he relaxed. "But with you I wish it to be more than that. I spoke carefully about wanting to make sure our interactions were driven by our emotional bond. To that end I have wanted to be sure of... us... before proceeding."

He fell silent and d'Artagnan began stroking his hand with his thumb.

"Do you feel pressured?" d'Artagnan asked.

Athos huffed out a breath and turned his head away.

"You're right, Sir. You're in no way a shrinking violet. I find you... intoxicatingly aggressive in our more carnal moments. It takes my breath away and make my heart race," d'Artagnan said teasingly. Athos laughed softly and d'Artagnan pressed on. "I think, though, I'm somewhat ahead of you on the emotional front."

He went quiet and watched Athos who was forcing himself to breathe deeply.

"Yes. I feel pressured sometimes. I believe it's part of why... I had the feeling of just being something new. It felt as though you ignored my wishes for us to be fuelled by emotion and just... you just..." Athos trailed off again and sighed in frustration.

"That I just wanted you for your body?" d'Artagnan teased.

Athos laughed again and nodded.

"I do want you, d'Artagnan. So much. When I see you smile, you tilt your head just so, when you're close... I just want more than that and it... I sometimes feel like you don't," Athos admitted.

"I do. I really do. Please believe me," d'Artagnan said earnestly. He brought Athos' hand up and kissed it. Athos turned their hands and kissed the Gascon's in return.

A comfortable silence fell between them and they each leaned more heavily against the other.

“I will continue to try and be open and honest with you, d'Artagnan," Athos said suddenly, sitting up. D'Artagnan blinked in surprise at the solemnity in his voice. "And... I promise to kiss you more often.”

D'Artagnan chuckled.

“Then in return I will be more aware of how you are feeling, even when you're unable to express it. My promise to you is that I stop trying to get you between the sheets,” d'Artagnan teased.

“Oh don't stop trying my boy,” Athos murmured. “I rather like it when you're totally unable to hide your need. I like seeing you squirm, seeing you move, hearing you beg.”

D'Artagnan gasped, completely caught off guard. He clutched at Athos' hand. Athos chuckled softly and brought the hand up to his mouth to kiss again.

“Let's sleep, puppy. It's late,” he murmured.

"Oh come on! Now you're just being intentionally teasing," d'Artagnan protested, standing when Athos did so.

"Perhaps," Athos agreed.

They shot each other constant glances as they each undressed to just their smalls. Athos stretched out in bed on his back and d'Artagnan hesitantly lay down beside him.

"Puppy," Athos murmured.

D'Artagnan obediently shuffled closer, pressing himself against Athos' side and laying his head on his chest. Athos sighed softly and stroked his hair before settling his arm around the slender body.

"Sir?" d'Artagnan asked.

"Mmm?" Athos murmured.

"Thank you."

Athos looked down in surprise at d'Artagnan whose eyes were already closed.

"For what?"

"For... so many things. For being you. For letting me into your life. For answering this in me, for helping me realise what I'm supposed to be," d'Artagnan answered, nuzzling Athos' chest gently.

Athos smiled but couldn't find the words to answer. He simply tightened his arm around d'Artagnan. After a few seconds Athos felt a kiss against his bare chest and he knew the Gascon understood his silence. After several long minutes Athos felt him fall asleep against his side. It was only a few minutes before Athos, too, fell asleep, his heart feeling lighter than it had in years.

 


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After clearing the air, the four of them continue their journey to Dijon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter because the next one is quite long :)

Athos woke to an insistent knocking on the door. He scowled, feeling very much as if he had a hangover. D'Artagnan was sprawled beside him on his stomach, snoring lightly. Apparently that infernal knocking didn't disturb him at all.

A sudden harder knock sounded that Athos recognised as Porthos' hand. His scowl deepened as he pulled himself to his feet and padded barefoot across the room. Opening the door he found Porthos and Aramis both fully dressed.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“Six. We'd like to get going,” Aramis answered.

Athos didn't answer for a few seconds as he considered his options. They were still fifty miles from Dijon. Having not gotten to bed until the small hours of the morning, if they set out now, they would probably grow fatigued and end up stopping for the night about ten to fifteen miles short. Almost exactly what Athos was hoping for.

“Have you eaten?” Athos asked.

“Heading down now,” Aramis answered.

“We will join you shortly,” he said nodding to them both.

Athos closed the door as they departed and look at the bed. D'Artagnan was awake and watching him, a sleepy smile on his face. The man could fall asleep at the drop of a hat and remain that way through a hurricane yet he woke each and every time Athos left his side. The Musketeer sat on the edge of the bed and smiled as d'Artagnan rolled onto his side to face him.

“Good morning, pup,” he said quietly.

“Mmm. Morning, Sir,” answered d'Artagnan sleepily.

“How are you feeling?”

“So very tired. Slight headache,” he answered honestly. “Someone must have kept pouring me wine.”

Athos smiled.

“I feel much the same so I do not expect it is the wine. I believe our conversation is possibly responsible,” Athos replied.

He idly ran his hand across the smooth skin of d'Artagnan's back and chuckled softly as he stretched like a cat.

“Are you saying we have some sort of... emotional hangover?” he asked, chuckling.

“Indeed,” murmured Athos quietly. “When I asked how you were feeling it was to our conversation I was referring. I believe I have been somewhat remiss in keeping track of how our developing relationship is affecting my puppy.”

D'Artagnan smiled and reached out to hold Athos' hand.

“I am certainly feeling much better, Sir. I feel like I understand you a little more and I have a clearer idea of how we're going to proceed.”

“I'm glad,” Athos replied softly. “It occurred to me last night that if I'm serious about making you mine, I should make sure I am suitably equipped to deal with the results. If I wish to steer this bond into something not quite equal it makes me responsible for your well-being. Not a responsibility I feel I have been living up to thus far.”

D'Artagnan smiled softly and squeezed d'Artagnan's hand, unable to deny the truth in his words. He had been feeling rather alone, as if Athos wanted him to talk to Porthos instead of him so that he didn't have to deal with it.

Athos understood the meaning behind the squeeze around his hand. He leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to d'Artagnan's forehead, lingering there.

“I will do better, puppy.”

  
  


  
  


  
  


Aramis took point on the road out of town, riding them hard all morning. Whatever the two of them had done overnight it seemed to have dissolved all of their fears and the cold, determined fury that carried them out of Paris had taken its place as their driving force again. It was all Athos could do to keep up.

He commented on this change when they shared lunch, not far from the road. They exchanged a look at his words.

“What is it, gentlemen? What are you not telling us?” he asked, his gaze flicking between the two.

“We have grown concerned, in light of Truyart's death, that it was just... Was it too easy?” Aramis murmured.

Athos frowned deeply.

“Why would you say that? You have reason to doubt his loyalty?” he asked sharply.

“No,” Porthos answered quickly. “But he left the regiment to 'get away from it all'. He wanted a simpler life.”

“Then why agree to scout on this mission, in particular?” d'Artagnan asked, echoing Porthos' reaction.

“It's not close to where he lives... Only three guards...” Athos said thoughtfully, his food forgotten in his lap.

“Even if we assume the worst, the mission was a success,” d'Artagnan commented slowly.

“Finish your thought,” Athos encouraged.

“If we are assuming they lay on fewer escorts because they relied on Truyart feeding us false information, the fact that we managed to get her out and back without discovery would imply he remained true to us,” he continued. “It could be that his murder was punishment for not destroying us.”

A long silence followed his words. Athos shook himself.

“ **If** he was put up to it at all. We never asked Tréville why he was scouting for us. Perhaps he had other business in Troyes,” he said, trying to stop them running away with theories before facts were in.

“However...” d'Artagnan murmured.

“Pup?” Athos prompted.

“You two are surprised at the fact that he became a scout at all. You knew him when he left. Did he seem open to coming back? That he would have been willing to get involved in even a simple mission?” he asked.

“No,” they answered quickly and in unison.

“That reaction alone, I feel, give the theory some credibility,” d'Artagnan said, nodding at them.

Another long silence followed.

“So... Do we operate under the best assumption or the worst?” he asked.

“The worst puts us most on our guard,” Athos answered.

“You mean we'll be on the lookout for whatever could have possibly forced him out of retirement?” Aramis asked.

“Indeed,” Athos murmured.

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


As Athos had anticipated, the fury and determination driving his brothers petered out about six in the evening. The horses were beginning to flag as well and Athos nominated himself and d'Artagnan to see to them while the others made dinner.

“Is this you giving me opportunities to earn more rewards,” d'Artagnan asked slyly as Athos began working beside him.

“Hmm?”

“Was it not my diligence with the horses that earned me my reward last time we were in Paris together?” d'Artagnan asked, smiling sideways at him.

Athos turned and gently drew d'Artagnan into his arms. The Gascon wriggled in pleasant surprise at this outward display of affection.

“It seems to me that good deeds done for personal gain are not good deeds at all,” Athos murmured, settling his arms around the slim waist.

“Then I have no hope of reward and I may as well do only bad things?” d'Artagnan asked, his own arms snaking around Athos, his hands landing lightly on his buttocks.

“Are you negotiating again, pup?” Athos asked, smirking.

“Well... You know what I want and I am quite determined to achieve it by any means necessary,” he teased, growing bold enough to press his fingers into Athos' buttocks gently.

The Musketeer's breath hitched suddenly and he pushed d'Artagnan back against the horse he was working on. He removed his arms from the slender waist and braced them either side of d'Artagnan's head on the placid mare.

D'Artagnan immediately felt the smirk slide off his face at the imperious look on Athos' face. His breath was coming uneven and shallow.

“What did you say?” Athos asked, feeling a sudden lurch of desire as the arrogance was wiped instantly from the man's face.

“I... I meant to say... I...” d'Artagnan stammered.

“Yesss...” asked Athos, leaning in close enough that his breath passed across d'Artagnan's cheek.

“I want to make my Papa proud of me,” he whispered, resisting the urge to close the last inch and kiss Athos.

“That isn't what you said,” the older man murmured. “I think you said something along the lines of being so desperate for release you would do anything?”

“Oh no. No, Athos. Not release,” d'Artagnan said suddenly, pressing his hands against Athos' chest.

“No?” asked Athos, staring fixedly at the soft lips less than an inch from his own.

“For you. I am desperate for you,” d'Artagnan corrected in a whisper.

At this Athos groaned softly and kissed d'Artagnan hard. He used his body weight to push him back against the horse, claiming his mouth with a firm press of his own lips. He felt rather than heard d'Artagnan moan against his lips and he couldn't stop himself pressing his pelvis against his.

Suddenly the horse moved, indignant at having the weight of not one but two soldiers against her flank.

D'Artagnan lost his footing as she moved and nearly fell but Athos quickly wrapped arms around his waist and held him fast. They met each other's eyes and d'Artagnan was startled to see Athos blushing slightly.

“Athos?” he asked, brushing his fingers over Athos' back.

“I can't...” he trailed off. He shook his head and took a deep breath. “I see more than lust in your eyes and it humbles me. I hope you see more than lust in mine because... I feel more for you.”

D'Artagnan's smiled widened and he flattened his hand on the older man's back, pulling him closer.

“I do, Athos. I think I am falling for you and I think you are for me too,” he said tentatively.

Athos exhaled heavily and nuzzled into d'Artagnan's neck. It was a huge relief to have finally begun to open up and not have it thrown in his face. He couldn't bring himself to agree with d'Artagnan's words, though, however true they were.

D'Artagnan understood and simply ran his hands up and down Athos' back, soothing him gently. He understood how difficult it had been for him to open up and didn't want to push him.

Athos took a deep breath and stood upright. He lowered his head tentatively and kissed d'Artagnan sweetly. He felt d'Artagnan sigh and they broke apart.

“Come on then,” Athos murmured, releasing d'Artagnan. “Back to work.”

 


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The four men arrive at Truyart's vineyard to continue their investigation

Athos woke to Porthos' hand on his shoulder to swap the watch. He nodded and glanced down at d'Artagnan. He was sprawled on his back with his foot hooked over Athos'. The Musketeer gently slid his foot out from beneath and sat up. He didn't need to move from where he was for watch so he just leaned back against a tree.

Athos smiled to himself as d'Artagnan rolled onto his stomach, moving closer to Athos. A sleepy hand started feeling around for him and the Musketeer couldn't resist holding it.

“Mmm. Hi Papa,” murmured d'Artagnan, his voice muffled by the grass he was still face down upon. Athos didn't reply and continued to smile as the younger man fell back to sleep straight away.

  
  


  
  


Over breakfast they discussed their plans. Athos refused to let them split up. He wanted to stay close to Aramis and Porthos to keep their heads on straight. He was aware of the ease with which they had latched on to the theory of conspiracy. While he did, in fact, believe it himself, it was his responsibility to keep them objective.

They rode around the outskirts of the city to reach Truyart's vineyard and they crested the hill leading to it at noon. As the vineyard came into view, the sight that greeted them stopped them all their tracks.

The field stretched out ahead of them on their left and it was black and freshly charred as though recently burned. Aramis took his hat off and the four of them rode on slowly. This had been no accident. Everything had been caught in whatever blaze had destroyed the field. The vines were curled and black, the trellises were crumpled on the ground.

“What the hell?” Porthos growled suddenly and he spurred his horse, jumping ahead.

Aramis leapt after him and Athos and d'Artagnan followed in the dust kicked up by their horses.

They found Porthos and Aramis dismounting at a barn. Porthos had placed his hat on his horse, a frown on his face. At a glance they realised what had made Porthos react. An enormous hole had been blown on the top right hand side of the barn, blasting a huge gap in the wall and half the roof out. Athos heard d'Artagnan gasp beside him at the unexpected devastation.

They dismounted quickly and tied their horses to the fence at the edge of the barn. Athos was pleased to see Porthos and Aramis paused at the door, which was hanging off its hinges, waiting for them to join them. All four drew their pistols and moved silently into the barn.

Porthos and d'Artagnan moved inside the door along each wall, circling the ground floor in opposite directions. The whole building had been ransacked. There was a huge basket press in the centre of the room laying in pieces, one side of it burned and charred. Shelving and glass littered the floor. The upper floor was little more than a balcony all around the room with a huge cut out where the tall press usually stood.

Aramis nodded at the stairs in the corner by the door. Athos shook his head and moved forwards to follow Porthos. Aramis followed d'Artagnan and after carefully making their way around the lower level, they united at the corner where the explosion had clearly occurred.

Aramis removed his hat and rubbed along his forehead. He looked up to see where the explosion had ripped the roof out and blown away half the floor above. The wall was intact up to about waist height around the corner of the room. Aramis replaced his hat and looked around.

He followed Porthos to the stairs, who had examined them and nodded at Aramis who carefully moved up them, his pistol drawn. D'Artagnan followed, his own pistol preceding him up the stairs.

Porthos remained at the bottom of the stairs with his back to them, listening intently to map their progress. Athos had moved to the doorway of the barn to watch them. His heart leapt into his throat at the creak of floorboards above them.

“Be careful. They may not bear your weight after whatever happened here,” Athos called softly.

It was the first words any of them had spoken since they'd seen the devastation.

“Good thing the slim beautiful people came up here,” Aramis called back distractedly.

Despite the jesting, he and d'Artagnan were indeed taking extra care. Upstairs the damage was frightening. The floor was stained with wine. Clearly Truyart had been storing some up here and every single barrel had been smashed. D'Artagnan circled to the left as far has he could. There were several shelving units with ledgers laying in tatters before he got to the missing part of the floor. He moved as far as he dared and looked carefully at the floor. He examined some of the barrel fragments on the floor and looked up to see how far Aramis had gotten.

Aramis had reached the gap in the floor on the other side and was crouched on the floor, his hat held against his chest.

“Aramis?” he asked.

“Blood,” Aramis answered.

“Fresh?”

“No. What've you got?” he asked, indicating the wood in d'Artagnan's hand.

“Gunpowder,” d'Artagnan replied.

He heard movement below them and leaned over carefully to see Athos had moved to below them and was exploring the debris. Aramis had risen and was already descending the stairs. D'Artagnan walked round and crouched where Aramis had been. He saw where the red stain of wine mingled with the stain of blood. There was no telling how big the blood pool had been as it was about a two by four inch rim around the edge of the jagged floorboard edge.

D'Artagnan looked around for a few more minutes but didn't find anything Aramis had missed. He turned and walked back to the stairs to find Porthos still waiting there for him. Aramis was waiting by the door and as soon as he was safely down, Porthos joined him and the two of them left the barn.

D'Artagnan joined Athos beneath the hole in the roof.

“There's a significant bloodstain upstairs. I can't tell how large it was but more than a skinned knee. It pre-dates the wine staining,” he reported.

“Show me,” Athos said quietly.

Together they moved back upstairs. The floorboards creaked alarmingly and Athos held his hand out to d'Artagnan who nodded and stopped where he was. Athos continued forwards alone and surveyed the bloodstain. He agreed with d'Artagnan's findings that the blood stained the wood before the wine.

They joined the other two outside and found them examining a piece of barrel. Porthos looked up at their approach.

“I think someone was killed upstairs,” Athos said bluntly.

“I agree,” Aramis said. “There's a bloodstain upstairs. Its size is hidden by the missing floor," he added, filling in for Porthos who had not ventured up the stairs. "My instinct is that someone shed their blood here but was moved before the explosion the amount of blood being enough to necessitate concealment.”

“Moved?” asked d'Artagnan. "Why do you say moved?"

“No... parts,” Porthos grunted.

D'Artagnan blanched slightly as he got Porthos' meaning. He felt Athos' fingers pressed against his tail bone and he took a breath.

“What've you got there?” he asked, nodding at the wood in Porthos' hands.

“Gunpowder barrel,” Aramis answered and gestured at d'Artagnan. Porthos handed it over.

Athos examined it with d'Artagnan and raised his eyes to Aramis.

“You know this logo?” he asked. Aramis shook his head.

“Not the manufacturer who supplies the Musketeers. Not one I've come across before,” he answered. “It's not Spanish.”

“I think it's Italian,” d'Artagnan said, squinting.

“Who do we know that lives closer to Italy than to Paris?” asked Porthos growling slightly.

“Let's take that with us,” Athos said quietly.

The four of them walked back to the horses and d'Artagnan tucked the wood fragment into his bag. Athos led them to the house, just visible in the distance. Every field they passed had suffered the same treatment. Each vine was burnt to a crisp.

The house seemed relatively untouched. It had been searched thoroughly but not ransacked and destroyed like the barn had been. They resumed their stealthy search, moving in silent pairs, pistols drawn.

Athos and d'Artagnan searched the upper floor and found four bedrooms, three of which were under covers. The master bedroom had clearly been in use as there were no covers but it felt undisturbed.

They were halfway back down the stairs when they heard the sounds of swords being drawn. They followed the noise at a sprint, drawing their own in response.

They found Aramis and Porthos in the kitchen at the top of the basement stairs. They didn't take their eyes of the basement, even at Athos and d'Artagnan's sudden arrival. Aramis jerked his head in direction of the stairs, clearly indicating they'd heard something.

After a quick nod they began to move down the stairs, Porthos leading with Aramis behind. D'Artagnan followed with Athos carefully making his way down backwards, covering their only route out. The scent of wine was so strong it was unbelievable and the floor was increasingly sticky.

They moved as a tight unit, each staying within arm's reach of the other. Porthos, in front, flared his nostrils and inhaled noisily. He'd worked with Aramis and Athos enough for them to pick up on the message. There was the scent of recently doused torches. He followed his nose and located the still smoking torch on the wall.

Athos and Aramis tightened around d'Artagnan and nudged him towards the torch. He understood, sheathed his sword and quickly found his matches, relighting the torch. He held the torch high, his brothers relaxing their stance as light flooded the cellar.

It was full of smashed barrels. This had clearly been Truyart's main storeroom but every single barrel had been obliterated, their contents across the floor, accounting for the smell.

As they continued to move, d'Artagnan lit the other wall torches. Finally able to get their bearings they realised the cellar was almost the entire length of the house but much narrower. The torch they had taken was about half way down. Porthos estimated it to be about level with the main entrance hall upstairs.

As light continued to fill the room, they spread out slightly, more confident at their ability to see danger coming. They frowned slightly seeing the cellar empty. Athos raised his eyebrow silently at Aramis and Porthos but received a roll of the eyes from Aramis, clearly confirming they had not imagined whatever noise brought them down here.

D'Artagnan returned to the wall sconce he'd taken the torch from and started. He placed his finger over his lips and they all tensed. Silently they moved closer and Athos gently pulled d'Artagnan away from the wall.

A bookcase was stood against the wall. All of the books had been pulled from the shelves and were on the floor, stained with the wine. Athos frowned slightly noticing four books on the bottom shelf that seemed untouched. He nodded at it and they all instantly shifted position.

D'Artagnan redrew his sword but stepped back to stand beside Aramis who had his pistol raised. D'Artagnan raised his own and they both nodded. Porthos crouched at the edge of the bookcase, closest to the untouched books and raised both his pistols. He, too, nodded at Athos.

Athos looked at each of them once more and put both of his weapons away. He gripped the edge of the bookcase above Porthos' head and took a deep breath. He pressed his foot into the false books and heard the click he expected. He pulled hard on the bookcase, opening the hidden door wide.

Porthos quickly filled the gap he'd created, both of his pistols ahead of him. Athos drew his own and stepped into line beside d'Artagnan, their three pistols pointing over Porthos' head.

All four men froze at the look of fear on the two women's faces as they stared down the barrels of five Musketeer pistols.

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


After a few seconds, Athos and d'Artagnan immediately put their pistols away. Hearing them, Porthos and Aramis lowered theirs but didn't hook them onto their belts just yet.

“Hey. S'alright. We're here to help,” Porthos said gently, settling onto his knees from the combative crouch he had been in.

They were cowering in a bare chamber. It was roughly the size of the entrance hall above. The two women had clearly been living down here. There were two piles of blankets, obviously beds. They had a small candle lantern, a couple of plates and a small collection of food at their feet.

Athos stepped into the chamber, crouching beside Porthos. He estimated one to be late thirties and the other to be early twenties. They were dressed in simple garb but definitely not peasants and they were clutching each other, naked terror on their faces. He removed his hat and spoke gently.

“My name is Athos of the King's Musketeers. We are here to...” he trailed off.

At the word Musketeers, the older had widened her eyes and the younger had started to tremble, clutching the other more tightly. Normally a word that inspired comfort, safety and respect, it clearly frightened this young woman.

Aramis noticed as well and lay his hand on Porthos' shoulder, drawing him away. Athos followed and he, Porthos and d'Artagnan all took a step further back, allowing a little more light into the chamber instead of blocking the doorway.

Aramis took their place, crouching on the floor to talk to them.

“Good afternoon ladies. My name is Aramis of the King's Musketeers. I, and my friends here, are searching for information about our brother, Truyart. We served with him.” he said gently. “Is this his vineyard?”

The older woman nodded, warily.

“These are my friends. Porthos, d'Artagnan and you've already met Athos,” he continued, gesturing at each of them in turn. They all nodded a greeting and Aramis was pleased to note the woman also nodded at them.

“May I ask your names?” he enquired softly.

She didn't answer.

“We have searched the house and found it empty but for the two of you. Would you come upstairs and talk to us? I assure you we will protect you from whatever danger drove you down here,” he said, keeping his voice soft.

She nodded slowly and unlaced her arms from around the younger woman's body. As she did so, the younger woman shook her head vigorously.

“They are Musketeers. They won't hurt us,” the older whispered. "My name is Madame Martine Truyart.

 


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Musketeers meet their fallen brother's wife.

There was a stunned silence. Her face softened.

“Ah. He did not tell you he was getting married? That explains why none of you came to the wedding. He told me the Captain had said you were all unavailable but I always knew when he wasn't being entirely truthful,” she said, naked affection in her voice.

“I apologise, Madame. Indeed, we had no idea,” Aramis answered, recovering somewhat.

“It is fine, Monsieur,” she murmured. “You have searched the house and nobody is here?”

“We have, Madame. Would you please come upstairs so we can talk?”

Madame Truyart nodded warily and Aramis drew back out of the enclosed space. All four men took a huge step backwards, giving the two women plenty of space to pass. Aramis couldn't help but notice the nervous way Madame Truyart moved, though. Clearly she was still on the lookout for intruders. She hovered uncertainly at the top of the stairs before taking a seat at the large wooden table in the kitchen.

“I apologise for how you found us, gentlemen. Our vineyard was attacked a few weeks ago. They were looking for my husband and grew angry when I would not tell them where he was,” Madame Truyart explained quietly.

Athos frowned and shot a glance to Aramis.

“I am so very sorry, Madame. I have to tell you, your husband was killed sixteen days ago in Troyes,” Aramis said, taking a seat beside her and taking her hand.

Her eyes filled with tears instantly but she just nodded sadly.

“I had guessed as much. He would never have stayed away this long,” she murmured.

“When did all this happen?” he asked, releasing her hand and gesturing at the window.

“The burning began before he left. He left three weeks ago. About a week after that the barn was destroyed and all the remaining fields were put to the torch. Colette and I hid downstairs.”

“On what errand did he depart?” Aramis asked.

“He... I cannot say,” she answered. “I swore to him.”

“He was murdered,” Athos said bluntly from where he stood opposite them.

“No!” she gasped. Colette gasped at the same time.

“Not him... Not my Denis,” she pleaded, clutching at Aramis' hand.

Aramis covered her hands with his other and sat quietly for a minute. When she'd relaxed her grip he dipped his head to catch her eyes.

“We wish to find out who took him from you. To do that we need to know who destroyed the vineyard. They are most likely to be related,” Aramis said softly, searching her face. “Please help us.”

“Madame needs rest,” Colette interjected.

“I think Madame would be best served by remaining awake this afternoon and having a full night's sleep in her own bed tonight,” Aramis answered without looking away from Madame Truyart's eyes. “Martine?” he asked, his voice soft.

“I...” she trailed off.

The sound of Martine's stomach growling filled the sudden silence.

“Perhaps we should find you some lunch and then talk about it when you're feeling better?” Aramis suggested.

She nodded gratefully and they all moved to the kitchen. Porthos returned to the cellar to collect the food they had stored and brought it back up.

“This won't see us much longer,” Madame Truyart observed.

Athos drew Porthos to one side and whispered a few words to him. After receiving a nod from Porthos he withdrew with d'Artagnan and they left.

“Where are they going?” Martine asked as Porthos sat down opposite them.

“To find some more food. I was hoping you would permit us to intrude in your home for the night until we decide what to do next. If you don't mind four muddy Musketeers stomping around your home,” Aramis said quietly, flashing her a winning smile.

“I have lived with one for five years,” she replied, smiling good-naturedly. “You are welcome to stay. It would... It will be nice to feel safe in my own home.

  
  


  
  


As Athos and d'Artagnan slowed to walk, entering Dijon, the older man turned suddenly.

“How do you feel about the maid?” Athos asked.

“The maid? Remarkably loyal to hide with her,” d'Artagnan answered.

“Indeed," Athos replied thoughtfully.

"Athos?"

"I don't trust her,” Athos said. “Let's get enough food to see six of us for two days and get back. I don't wish to leave them for long.”

“Should you not conceal your pauldron?” he asked.

“Oh no. I think not,” Athos said darkly. “If someone here knows how or why that Musketeer lost his life, I would have them know his brothers have arrived to find out.”  
  


  
  


  
  


At Aramis' gentle pushing, Madame Truyart and her maid Colette retired to bed quite early. The four men gathered in the kitchen to eat their own supper while Athos relayed his thoughts to them.

“I agree,” Porthos said darkly.

“The maid wasn't surprised Truyart was murdered. She doesn't even seem that disturbed by the captivity. We need to get Madame Truyart away from her,” d'Artagnan commented, keeping his voice low.

“What do you suggest?” Athos asked.

“Presumably she has some family, perhaps in Dijon or a farm nearby? If two of us take her home to let them know she's safe?” d'Artagnan asked.

“If she doesn't?” prompted Athos.

D'Artagnan thought for a moment.

“If Madame Truyart could give us a tour of the grounds and explain what happened while Colette showed us round the house? Or both round the estate but split up to cover more ground?” he suggested.

“Better. I think the former is probably going to work the best. Do you think she wants to talk?” Athos asked, looking at Aramis.

“I do. I don't know if it's just Colette stopping her talking, though. She has no husband and they've destroyed her livelihood here. If she feels as though she's lost everything, why would she risk ending up in more trouble?” Aramis said thoughtfully.

A silence fell over them until Porthos cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“Perhaps we stress that? That she has nothing to lose?” he suggested reluctantly.

“We destroy whatever hope kept her going in the cellar?” Aramis asked, frowning.

“Look I 'ain't happy about it but if she really thinks she has nothing to lose then maybe she'll help us. If she 'finks there's something else, she may hold out,” Porthos said, leaning back in his chair.

There was an uncomfortable silence around the table.

“I don't want to do that if we can help it,” Athos said slowly. “But I do think we should consider it.”

Aramis nodded reluctantly.

“Do you think we need to set up watches here?” d'Artagnan asked.

Before they'd gone to bed, Colette and Madame Truyart had cleared the covers from the two bedrooms on the opposite side of the landing from hers, which she was sharing with Colette.

“I think so. I think our presence in Dijon today would have aroused suspicion, if there are people looking out for us,” Athos answered.

“Hard to defend here,” Porthos mused.

He had a point. The house was set in the middle of the vineyard so easily approached from all sides.

“We watch in pairs? One watching the front, one the back?” d'Artagnan asked.

Athos nodded.

“That's probably best,” Athos confirmed. “We will take the front bedroom, if you take the back?”

Porthos and Aramis nodded in unison and the four of them retreated upstairs.

 

 

 

 

“Porthos,” Aramis hissed.

The darker man woke quickly and rolled off the bed to crouch at Aramis' side. The sharpshooter had moved a bureau to the side of the window and was crouched behind it, his arquebus raised. When Porthos had fallen asleep, he'd been sat on it so clearly something had caused him to move.

“What've you got?” he asked in a whisper.

“At least two men. Moving slowly,” Aramis reported.

They were lucky that the full moon they'd enjoyed the night before arriving in Paris had not waned much and still cast a lot of light over the fields.

Porthos nodded and moved silently out of the room and into the bedroom his brothers were in.

“We've got movement behind us,” he reported to d'Artagnan who turned at his approach. Athos was asleep on the bed but woke hearing Porthos speak.

“D'Artagnan?” Athos asked.

“Nothing here yet,” he answered.

Porthos nodded and left again, returning to Aramis. Athos slid off the bed and joined the Gascon at the window. After a few minutes Athos' heart sank when d'Artagnan tensed. He searched the field and there were three shadows moving amongst the charred vines. He felt a savage sense of satisfaction realising that if they'd left the vines healthy, they probably wouldn't have been seen as easily.

He slid down the wall and moved out into the hallway. He moved into the second room and held up three fingers to Porthos who nodded and held up three back.

“Shoot?” he mouthed silently.

Aramis shook his head.

“Only six. Not highly trained,” he whispered.

Porthos took his bandanna from his belt and pulled it on. He picked his pistol up off the floor beside him and drew his dagger. He exchanged a glance with Aramis and nodded once. Athos ducked into d'Artagnan's room to tell him he and Porthos were making their way to meet them. D'Artagnan nodded once and turned back to the approaching shadows. The two Musketeers moved silently down the staircase, pistols raised. There were only two doors into the house. One at the back in the kitchen, directly beneath Aramis' vantage point and the other was the main front door, directly opposite the stairs.

Athos nodded at the front door and pointed with his pistol to the kitchen. Porthos nodded and moved into the kitchen without a sound. Athos duck-walked to the window beside the front door and could just about make out two of the three men he knew were approaching. He watched them split up and guessed they were scouting a perimeter.

He heard a soft click from the kitchen, a short scuffle and the unmistakeable sound of a body hitting the floor. He exhaled slowly and strained his ears to hear any more movement.

He drew his dagger from his back when he heard the front door being rattled, less than a foot from where he was crouched out of view. A shadow passed by the window beside him. When another shadow followed. Athos carefully moved along the wall. It moved him further from the door but he could just about overhear the conversation.

“Colette said she'd make sure the doors are open,” one voice said.

“Musketeers,” a second spat. The derision in the man's voice made Athos' blood boil. “There's only two of 'em here. We can force the door and take them.”

Athos breathed an internal sigh of relief.

At d'Artagnan's suggestion they had moved two of the horses to a pavilion a short walk away to give the illusion of only two Musketeers being at the house since only two were seen in town. It appeared their luck had held and they had not come in via that direction, having only seen the two tethered by the kitchen door.

Athos turned sharply at another noise from the kitchen. It was another noise he knew well. The sound of a pistol connecting with a man's head. Again the sickening sound of a body hitting the floor reached Athos.

He inched back along the wall to the window by the door and risked a glance out. There was one man stood by the door, his back to it. He heard movement on the landing and could just make out the familiar shapes of d'Artagnan and Aramis.

Their marksman lay on his stomach at the top of the stairs, his arquebus trained on the front door. Athos could just see the orange tip of his lit fuse. D'Artagnan moved down the stairs and looked expectantly at Athos. Rather than risk the man guarding the door seeing his movement at the window, he nodded for d'Artagnan to proceed into the kitchen.

Entering the kitchen the Gascon could barely make out Porthos' form crouched beside the door. Stepping forwards he came across an arm on the floor. Crouching, he realised it belonged to an either unconscious or dead man that was hidden under the table. He took a second look and realised there were actually two of them. He looked round at Porthos who shrugged.

“There's ten altogether,” he whispered.

Porthos nodded his thanks at the update and they continued to wait in silence. Another rattle on the front door made d'Artagnan turn his head but Porthos didn't move. The Gascon stepped into the doorway leading to the basement so he remained out of view from both directions.

There was a sudden gunshot through the front door and a loud shout from outside. D'Artagnan heard the familiar sound of Aramis' return fire and another shout.

The kitchen door burst open and three men came running through it. Porthos' pistol rang out, shooting the third in the back. The other two stopped and turned back to him, firearms raised. D'Artagnan fired his own, taking a second out. Porthos fired his second pistol but bellowed in pain as the man leapt upon him and slammed his head into the heavy wooden counter.

D'Artagnan drew his sword but seconds before he could reach the man, Porthos had rolled them and was a top the man, his dagger in his hand.

“Go,” he shouted at d'Artagnan.

The Gascon wasted no time in stepping over the two bodies and sprinting to the hallway. The doors were hanging open and a body lay across the threshold. As he stepped through the archway he heard Aramis' pistol ring out and another man dropped to the floor.

Casting a single glance to the top of the stairs he saw Aramis jump to his feet and draw his sword. Aramis did not, however, make any more to descend the stairs and d'Artagnan understood. The women were up there.

D'Artagnan turned and raised his blades against the two men now charging through the open doors. A sudden gunshot to his left sounded and one of them dropped. He realised Athos must have taken the opportunity to shoot when a sudden grunt of pain sounded from the same place.

Aramis watched from the balcony, itching to join. He had no idea how Porthos was doing, having recognised his pained shout among the gunfire. He could see Athos down to one knee after being struck in the stomach. Whether by blade or fist, Aramis couldn't be certain.

He couldn't take the risk of joining the fray, though. If there were more waiting outside and they got past him, it didn't bear thinking about.

Aramis had been right though. These men were not highly trained. He saw his opening as Athos' opponent straightened and threw his dagger, with a sniper's accuracy, into the centre of his back.

Seconds later d'Artagnan's skill overcame his opponent and with a single slash across the abdomen, the man fell. He sprang over the body and dashed to the kitchen. Porthos was on his back, a man on top of him, but his weapons were at his side.

Just as d'Artagnan leapt forwards, Porthos brought his hands up and with a sickening crack, twisted the man's head, breaking his neck. D'Artagnan pulled the body off him and held his hand out.

Athos breathed a sigh of relief seeing d'Artagnan and Porthos both enter the hallway. He quickly mounted the stairs and, with Aramis, knocked gently on Madame Truyart's door.

“Madame? It is I, Aramis,” he called softly. “The danger has passed.”

After a few moments, she opened the door, her face pale.

“Your coming here has brought more pain and danger,” she whispered.

“Hopefully it will also bring about an end to these awful events,” he replied.

“I do not think I could rest another moment. Please, allow me to get a drink of water,” she said, holding her hand to her face.

“I believe you would be best served, Madame, if we brought the water to you,” Athos said quietly.

Martine frowned at his words and in the silence the sound of a body being dragged across the hallway floor was clearly heard. She paled at the noise and nodded, withdrawing into her bedroom and closing the door.

“Stay here,” Athos said and Aramis nodded, already reloading his weapons but extinguishing the fuse.

 

 


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Musketeers deal with the aftermath of the attack.

By the time the sun rose, the seven men who had died were laid out under blankets behind the house, Aramis having insisted upon keeping them safe until they could be returned to their families. They weren't trained men so chances are they were local. The two men Porthos had rendered unconscious were groggy but otherwise unharmed. They had been lashed to chairs in the kitchen and d'Artagnan was tending to the rather severe wound on one's head where Porthos' pistol had struck him.

The only other survivor was a man who had suffered a gunshot through the thigh from Aramis' pistol but it had missed the bone so he should make a full recovery. Aramis had laid him out on the kitchen table and stitched his wound but he was still in too much pain to talk.

Madame Truyart was in the sitting room with Colette. They Musketeers had yet to confront the maid about her role in the ambush, content to let her believe they trusted her. They were not, however, leaving her alone with Madame Truyart at all.

  
  


D'Artagnan swapped with Athos, supervising the two women while they ate breakfast, so the Musketeer could begin questioning the intruders.

Aramis was leaning against the counter, facing the three men. He had taken his coat off to tend to the men's injuries and was in just his shirt and braces. Porthos was leaning against the wall behind the intruders, fury rolling off him in waves. Every time he moved they flinched.

Athos took a seat at the table opposite them and calmly looked between the three.

“Why don't you gentlemen go first? You know what we're going to ask,” he said formally.

“We aren't going to talk,” the uninjured one spat at him.

Porthos swatted him on the back of the head and the man grunted. His companion flinched away from Porthos.

“Why not?” asked Athos, his voice remaining calm.

“Because we'll be killed!” the second man replied. He flinched again, clearly still frightened of the warrior stood behind him.

“Ah. So it is not loyalty that causes you to follow the person who sent you here tonight. It is fear?” Athos asked.

The man on the table groaned in pain but the Musketeers made no move to help him, content to wait for the two coherent men to answer his question.

“Yes but we cannot answer your questions. We will die. Our farms and our families will meet this fate. Please, do not make us betray him,” the man pleaded, slurring slightly.

“Shut up Grenier!” snarled the first.

“If it is fear keeping the two of from talking to us, might I point out how ten of you fared against only four of us?” Aramis observed.

Both men paled and Grenier stared pleadingly at the other. It seemed they were friends as the angrier man's eyes were drawn to the still trickling blood on Grenier's head before nodding reluctantly and hanging his head, all the fight going out of him.

“My name is Grenier and this is Dubé,” he said, nodding at the man beside him. He nodded his head forwards at the man on the table. “This is Renauld. We're all just farmers and vintners in the villages around here. It was... the Marquis de Sennecey.”

There was silence in the room for a minute as the Musketeers observed this information. The Marquis de Sennecey was one of the most powerful people in this area of France.

“Governor of Auxonne and Macon? Why?” Athos asked sharply.

“We don't know. As spring passed and summer came, he sent envoys out to us all up and down Burgundy. The message was clear. We helped him target Truyart or our farms would be destroyed. We'd never heard from him before,” Grenier said desperately.

“His mother is first lady in waiting to the Queen. His father was the ambassador that organised the King's marriage,” Athos said slowly. His knowledge of the nobility was phenomenal and came to him out of habit. “I don't know of their son.”

“He is cruel man,” Dubé said quietly. His voice was flat, defeated and hopeless. “He does not have a wife, a family, nothing. His father was a brave man who fought for the King and worked hard. Charles is spoiled and cruel. He spends the family money without regard and hasn't done a full day's work in his life.”

He lifted his head when silence followed his words.

“My family are from Macon,” he explained.

“Do you know why he's come so far North?” Athos asked.

“I don't know,” Dubé admitted. When Athos turned his gaze on Grenier, he also shook his head.

“I do,” growled the man on the table. “I heard the others talking. He got in some big gambling debt with a really nasty group down in Lyon and they had a way for him to get out of it.”

“Gambling debt?” Athos asked sharply, flashing a look at Porthos.

Renauld groaned and clamped his hands on his thigh wound.

“Tell all that you know quickly and thoroughly and we will find you something for the pain,” Athos said firmly.

“There's a really nasty gambling ring operating between Dijon and Lyon. He got caught up in it. He told the others someone knew a way for him to make a lot of money. Enough to clear his debts. They needed him to get Truyart for something. Something nobody else could do,” Renauld said, through gritted teeth.

“Why him?” asked Athos.

“He was a Musketeer. It had to be a Musketeer and he's the only one outside Paris,” he hissed. “We had to convince him to do as Bauffremont wanted. He refused to even meet with him until we started burning his fields. He tried to go the magistrate but-” he cut himself off mid-sentence with a groan.

“But?” prompted Athos.

“But he's in the garden. Your friend here snapped his neck,” Dubé snorted. Aramis frowned at Porthos who just shrugged.

“So he received no help? You were instructed to continue burning his fields until he agreed?”

Dubé and Grenier both nodded.

“Tell me about the barn,” Athos instructed.

"I've no idea," Dubé said.

Renauld groaned again, trying to sit up but Aramis stepped close and pushed him back down by the shoulder.

“Some of us started doubting whether we should be doing it and then Truyart went missing. He just disappeared. The Marquis arrived one day with a barrel of gunpowder and said we were to blow the press up to prove the seriousness of his situation,” Renauld said, forcing himself to continue.

Athos felt Aramis' hand on his shoulder and knew it was his way of saying he didn't think the injured man could last much longer.

“Tell me about the blood,” Athos said, his voice growing more clipped. Renauld make a strangled cry at the question but forced himself to answer.

“It's the previous maid's. She was constantly trying to tell them not to give in so they removed her from the house. Young Phoebe. We kept her at a nearby farm. When we were sneaking the barrel in, they brought her to show us how to get into the barn. She realised what we were doing and ran up the stairs shouting at us and someone just... It was an accident. She grabbed his arm and he pushed her. She fell, hit her head... It was an accident,” Renauld insisted, beginning to cry.

Athos caught the look on the others' faces. Clearly they had no idea. They both looked repulsed.

“Then?”

“We hid her. She's buried behind the pavilion. It was the only place untouched by fire. We tried again to get out but now he told us he could take us down for murder,” he continued, his voice growing faint.

“Who is Colette?” Aramis asked quietly.

Renauld didn't answer, he had begun to sweat slightly and was groaning.

“She works for Bauffremont,” Grenier answered. “He brought her in to get Madame Truyart to tell us where he'd gone. She's his mistress, too. Don't trust her.”

“Anything you've left out?” Athos asked, looking between Grenier and Dubé.

They both shook their heads miserably.

“You're our best hope of getting out of this mess,” Grenier said earnestly. “We need you.”

Aramis drew a small flask of brandy from his bag on the counter and held it to Renauld's lips. After a large gulp, Aramis withdrew it. When he protested Porthos snorted.

“We could have gotten you blind drunk on wine but there isn't any here,” he grunted.

  
  


  
  


  
  


 

  
  


After Madame Truyart had a bath, they managed to convince Colette to take one too. She had tried to insist Madame Truyart remained by her side but Aramis had made Porthos promise to stand guard outside to protect her. They did not mention Porthos was guarding Colette to keep an eye on her, not to protect her.

They relayed all they had learned to Madame Truyart, including the fate of her maid. At this she grew tearful but Aramis had to press her.

“Madame, we do not have time. Do you trust Colette?” he asked.

“I- What? Why would I not?” she asked, startled.

“Look into your heart, Madame. Do you trust her?” he repeated, holding her gaze.

“I... My heart tells me not to, though I do not know why,” she admitted, frowning.

“Good. That's what we needed to know. She is the mistress of the Marquis that orchestrated all of this and planted here when Phoebe died,” Aramis said quickly.

There was another silence.

“I have been such a fool. She suggested we hide. She still asks where my husband went...” she trailed off and gasped. “She never asks where he is. She knew he was dead, didn't she?”

“We suspect so, yes,” answered Athos. “Why did your husband leave?”

“When the burning began, he wrote to Captain Treville. He received a reply and left immediately. I begged him not to go. He left the military for a reason but he told me he was still a Musketeer and could not deny his Captain. Please, I beg you. Tell me what happened. Why did my Denis die? Tell me all and tell me now,” Madame Truyart demanded.

“Someone needed him to spy on one of our missions. That is the task Bauffremont's masters needed a Musketeer for. We would not have trusted another,” Aramis said gently, taking her hand.

“Please rest assured, Madame,” d'Artagnan said quietly. “He did not betray us. We believe that is why he was killed. His loyalty was to the Musketeers and the King, knowing it may cause his death.”

She dabbed at her eyes for a few seconds and they all heard a hitch in her breathing.

“Please, Martine. We must continue,” Aramis said softly.

“Yes. Yes of course. What do you need from me?” she asked.

“We would like to take Colette into custody and remove you both to Paris. We cannot trust any authority here in Burgundy. It has been reported Bauffremont has been recruiting up and down the region.”

“I will not leave my home,” she said at once. “I know nobody in Paris and have no place to go there. My family live in Lyons. I'd like to go there, if anywhere.”

They all exchanged a glance and nodded, agreeing.

“What of Colette?” she asked, hearing movement upstairs.

“We will see what she has to say,” Athos said quietly.

He and d'Artagnan departed to relocate their captives. They sat them in the far corner of the sitting room, binding only their wrists. They carried Renauld through and sat him sideways beside the others on the long sofa, his injured leg stretched out across their laps.

D'Artagnan leaned against the wall beside the door while Athos took a seat in one of the two armchairs and Aramis reseated himself beside Madame Truyart on the love seat.

When Colette entered the room, she glanced around at them all. Porthos stepped close behind her and with one look at her fact, Athos could tell she knew her deception had been discovered.

“You can't touch me and you know it,” she spat, staring at them all in turn.

“Tell us everything from your point of view, please,” Athos said politely. He gestured to the only vacant seat, the armchair near the hearth beside his. She sat and Porthos remained where he was, his large frame filling the doorway.

She shrugged and looked disdainfully at them all, including Martine in her sweep. Athos watched her without comment. He could tell the meek quiet servant behaviour had been nothing but an act. Instantly he recognised the cold calculating look of a woman who would do anything to get her own way.

“You can't touch him and you can't touch me,” she repeated.

“Tell us please,” Athos said again.

“Fine,” she said, shrugging again. “Charles likes to gamble. He was banned from court because his temper got to him. He found a new group that gambled with him but he fell into a huge hole of debt. He was offered a way out and he took it.”

Athos found himself irritated as she shrugged again.

“Enough to kill? To destroy lives?”

“I didn't kill anyone. Seems you did, though,” she said, smirking.

“Those men were killed because they were sent to attack this house. They were unprepared, untrained, ill-equipped and utterly unable to defeat Musketeers," Athos answered, his voice rising in anger. "Whoever sent those men to this house are responsible for their deaths. To send those men into battle against us was risking their lives."

Colette's smirk faded slightly and he eyes swept over the three men in the corner.

"Might I also remind you that Phoebe died," Athos continued, his voice sharp. "You also forget, our brother died."

The temperature in the room dropped instantly and Colette studied the Musketeers carefully.

“You can't touch him. He's the Marquis of Sennececy and the governer of both Auxonne and Macon. You can't go anywhere near him and you know it,” she said, frowning.

“We don't want him,” Athos said, surprising everyone. “We want the gambling ring.”

She shot him a sharp look.

“You don't... Them?”

“You are right. We cannot touch him and we cannot touch the people we think set the group upon him. We can, and will, end the group,” Athos declared, his voice like ice.

 


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porthos and d'Artagnan have a conversation while they wait for their brothers to join them.

Two weeks later, d'Artagnan and Porthos were checking off names on a list of farms and vineyards that had been approached by Bauffremont.

It had been twelve days since Athos had questioned Colette. Once she'd been reassured they were not going to bring charges against Bauffremont, however much they would all like to, she became much more helpful.

Porthos and d'Artagnan had taken Martine to her parent's house in Lyons while Athos took Aramis to return Colette to the Marquis. They had agreed not to inform the King of his actions as long as he fully co-operated.

The four of them had barely stopped the entire time. Thankfully Athos' skill at negotiating the nobility had enabled them to set up trials for the three men that had survived the assault. Their confessions and full co-operation would be taken into account when the new magistrate was assigned.

After settling Madame Truyart with her family, d'Artagnan and Porthos had secured the four of them temporary lodgings in Lyons and were waiting for their brothers to arrive after questioning Bauffremont.

They were sat together on the bed in the room Porthos would share with Aramis, when he arrived, reviewing the list of people Colette knew had been approached to act as heavies for the Marquis. They had visited each and every one of them, making it clear anycontinued involvement would be met with swift Musketeer justice.

Porthos grunted with dissatisfaction when they reached the end of the list. None of the names on it held any new information. He flopped back on the bed and sighed.

“You seem frustrated,” d'Artagnan observed.

“Do I?” asked Porthos, dryly.

D'Artagnan chuckled.

“Is it... It being away from Aramis?”

Porthos sat back up and frowned.

“Not really. I mean I never like it but we're soldiers. I'm not gonna break down every time we're apart. It's just... I hate not being able to get the bastards that started all this.”

“The Duke?”

“Yeah. I get why we can't touch him. I get why we can't touch Bauffremont. I'll never forget the damage Savoy did to Aramis, though and I will never forgive him for it,” Porthos said darkly.

“Can I ask you something about that?” d'Artagnan said quietly.

“About Savoy?” asked Porthos, surprised.

“No... About... Well in your relationship power only flows one way and-”

“Hey...” Porthos said warningly, cutting him off.

“Will you let me get to the end of my question before deciding whether to answer?” d'Artagnan asked.

Porthos chuckled good-naturedly and nodded. D'Artagnan appreciated the consideration, knowing how private Porthos was.

“Yet it seems you protect him with equal fervour,” d'Artagnan continued.

“I do,” Porthos answered.

“I don't feel that would be welcome by Athos. I think he feels like he can't take comfort from me because I'm... his,” d'Artagnan said.

“I... Give me a minute,” Porthos said, frowning into space.

D'Artagnan nodded and stood, gathering their papers up. He glanced out the window while Porthos gathered his thoughts. The afternoon sun was moving on well. Athos and Aramis were expected sometime after sunset.

“He's responsible for my welfare,” Porthos said with difficulty. “Even though it's not the same way.”

“You mean he **feels** he is?” d'Artagnan asked.

Porthos flicked his eyes up and the Gascon wasn't surprised to see the guarded expression back in the normally friendly eyes.

“No. He... is. Actually is. It's... It took me a long time to accept it. The way we live means he actually **is** responsible for me,” Porthos said.

“Oh come on. That makes it sound like he owns you!” d'Artagnan exclaimed, laughing.

Porthos didn't answer and simply stared at him.

D'Artagnan forced himself to look back out the window so that Porthos didn't see the shock on his face. This was Porthos. Brave, independent, self sufficient Porthos that had dragged himself up and out of the Court. Was he really saying he'd surrendered so much to Aramis that he accepted Aramis was responsible for him?

“Lad?” Porthos asked softly.

D'Artagnan took a deep breath and turned back to him.

“I apologise. I just... I didn't realise the level of devotion of you have to him,” d'Artagnan said, swallowing thickly.

“I don't think that's what you're thinking but thanks,” Porthos said stiffly.

“Are you sure that's safe? I mean if he thinks he owns you he might...” he trailed off at the pained expression on his friend's face.

There was a long minute of decidedly uncomfortable silence and d'Artagnan could feel Porthos turning inwards.

“What were you going to say? You're responsible for him in a different way?” d'Artagnan asked gently.

“Doesn't matter. I don't... I'll ask Aramis if he can talk to you about it,” Porthos said, turning away.

“Porthos,” pleaded d'Artagnan. “I didn't mean to upset you. Please. I was just hoping for insight into Athos.”

Porthos stood abruptly, his whole body tensing.

“Don't play me for a fool, lad. I know you're bothered by it. I... It's not good. I can't... Leave it alone,” he said, his voice thick.

D'Artagnan nodded and took his leave, allowing Porthos to brood.

  
  


  
  


D'Artagnan threw his sword onto his bed in frustration. It had only been an hour since his disastrous conversation with Porthos but it felt like longer. With Aramis and Athos due to join them some time after sunset he intended to see if Porthos would join him for dinner and cards in another hour. He'd been practising rudimentary footwork with his sword, hoping to lose himself in the familiar movements. No such luck.

The Gascon dropped heavily into a chair and sighed deeply. He ran his hands through his hair. Every time he thought of the look on Porthos' face he felt awful. For a moment before he'd closed down entirely, there had been a terrible glimpse of disappointment and betrayal.

D'Artagnan supposed he kind of deserved it being that he had promised not to judge him. He intended to be a safe, trusting friend and instead had immediately corrected him to make his reality fit in with his world view. It was hard, though. This was Porthos. Strong, independent Porthos. Could he possibly mean he was no longer responsible for himself? Any time Porthos was upset, Aramis was obligated to fix it? Is that what he meant?

He felt a wave of shame when he realised he hadn't even stopped to ask. He'd just dismissed it as incorrect and when Porthos tried to explain, he'd turned away, literally. He'd even laughed at him. How hard it must have been for Porthos to even try and open up and d'Artagnan had just scoffed at him. He needed to make it up to his friend.

For a few moments, d'Artagnan debated whether to wait for Athos and Aramis to arrive but he quickly quashed the idea. If he really wanted to find some common ground with Porthos, he couldn't keep hiding from talking about it. Emboldened, he sheathed his sword and strode to Porthos' door. Knocking once, he heard Porthos answer and walked in.

He blinked in surprise at the sight that greeted him. It seemed Porthos, too, had energy to burn off. He had stripped his shirt and boots off and was doing push ups with his feet up on a chair. The angle made him almost bent at the waist, most of his weight making the push up almost vertical. He'd clearly been at it for a while given the sheen of sweat on his back.

“Porthos?” d'Artagnan asked tentatively.

“M'listening,” Porthos grunted, clearly exerting himself.

“Don't want to make you lose count,” the Gascon replied, settling himself in the other chair.

“Not counting,” Porthos replied, a smile in his strained voice. “Say what you want to say.”

“OK,” d'Artagnan chuckled, relaxing at the friendly note. “I wanted to apologise for not asking what you meant. I don't understand your relationship and I didn't appreciate what a huge gift you were giving me by trying to help me to do so.”

“Mhmm,” Porthos murmured, his rhythm steady. The slow control he was using was making d'Artagnan's shoulders ache just watching. If he did normal flat push ups that slow he shook like a leaf but here was Porthos with almost his entire upper body weight on his chest and not a tremor.

“I'm so sorry, Porthos. I was hoping you would explain what you meant,” d'Artagnan said.

Finally, Porthos stopped, lowering himself to the floor and pulling his legs down. He panted for a few seconds before pulling his legs under him and sat cross legged, looking up at d'Artagnan. Now that he'd stopped, d'Artagnan could see his breathing was slightly faster than normal.

“OK so... Stepping aside from what got us side-tracked. I was going to say that Aramis is responsible for my well-being because of his... let's call it his duty to me. Like the Captain looks out for us all. Yet any one of us would become fiercely protective of him, right?” Porthos asked.

D'Artagnan nodded slowly.

“Your protective instincts come from slightly different places but end up in the same place?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Porthos nodded.

He turned slightly and lay flat on his back. He pulled his legs up, crossed his ankles and began doing stomach crunches. D'Artagnan again marvelled at the control he had given his movements were so slow.

“So you don't think it's weird that I want to protect him? I feel like Athos considers it to be a one-way thing. As if he has to protect me from himself and the rest of the world and not seek comfort from me. That I can't take care of him as well, you know?” d'Artagnan mused while Porthos continued.

“Makes sense,” Porthos grunted between crunches. “He's not... exactly... good at... being soft.”

“So... Can we talk about where I misunderstood?” d'Artagnan asked.

Porthos barked out a strained laugh.

“You talk... I'll confirm or deny,” he said, not stopping his movements but grinning all the same.

“You... abdicate responsibility for yourself to him?” d'Artagnan asked, deciding to head it straight on.

“No... I am... still...” Porthos frowned between crunches, trying to phrase his thought while keeping his muscle control steady.

“Still your own man?” d'Artagnan supplied.

“No. Not that... Definitely not that,” Porthos answered. He groaned and let his arms and legs fall to the sides, flat on his back. He pulled himself round to face d'Artagnan again.

“I'm still responsible for keeping myself safe. I'm responsible for my own behaviour. What I choose to do is on me. **Believe** me I am held accountable for my actions," Porthos said, chuckling affectionately. "I just operate under a strict set of guidelines that let me know what is and isn't acceptable to him. It's like the Captain. If we step out of line, it's on us and he'll make us pay but on some level he's responsible for us. If we mess up constantly or in massive ways, he'll be questioned as to why he didn't stop it. Ends with him, y'know?” Porthos asked.

“Yeah. Makes sense. Forgive me for asking, Porthos, but it sounds as though he forces you to obey him, phrased like that,” d'Artagnan said, frowning.

Porthos couldn't stop the scowl coming to his face at these words.

“You know better than that,” he said tensely.

“I'm trying to,” d'Artagnan said quietly, seeing the shift in his demeanour.

“You know **him** better than that,” Porthos said stubbornly.

He shifted position and resumed doing his stomach crunches, his ankles crossed in the air.

“Want me to leave?” d'Artagnan asked.

“No. Want... you to... think,” Porthos replied.

D'Artagnan chuckled and relaxed in his chair. They were quiet for several minutes while Porthos exercised, the rhythmic sound of his breathing filling the room.

“Aramis is your Captain?” d'Artagnan asked, thoughtfully.

Porthos huffed out a laugh.

“Yeah, OK,” he chortled between movements.

“So the Captain doesn't force us to follow orders. We signed up for it,” d'Artagnan said slowly. Porthos didn't reply, letting the young man think out loud. “We do it because... well because it's just what we do. He is man we choose to follow. He might give us orders we don't like but we choose to follow them because... because we gave him our word we would do so.”

D'Artagnan fell silent but the atmosphere in the room had changed. Porthos was grinning while he continued to exercise, clearly happy d'Artagnan had understood.

“OK. So I get you two, now,” the Gascon said after a few minutes. “I don't get Athos and I.”

“Mm?” grunted Porthos. D'Artagnan could see the sheen of sweat covering his face and chest.

“Well you remember last time we tried to talk I said I was confused that I don't have to obey him like you clearly do Aramis?”

“Mhmm,” agreed Porthos.

“Well there's been... a lot of flirting... with the idea of... punishment,” d'Artagnan admitted, not meeting Porthos' eyes.

“Mmm,” Porthos encouraged, clearly growing fatigued.

“Well in order for there to be punishment, there needs to be disobedience, surely?” d'Artagnan asked.

Porthos exhaled heavily and dropped his limbs to the ground, laying flat on his back again. D'Artagnan watched him gathering his breath and could see slight tremors through the muscles on his stomach.

“Are we talking like rules Athos has set you wanna break or just being your mouthy self?” Porthos asked, still breathing heavily.

D'Artagnan laughed and watched as Porthos stood, drawing himself to his full height and stretching. He recognised the pattern of stretches he was going through as the daily routine they all used. Athos had told him it got drilled into every recruit.

“I think it's the latter,” he answered.

“OK... So... You say you understand me and Aramis? 'Praps what you've got isn't that at all?” Porthos suggested.

“I... don't understand,” d'Artagnan said quietly.

“Well... I... Just because we're one way, doesn't mean you are. I mean there's stuff that clearly crosses over but doesn't mean... We're all soldiers, right? We're not all soldiers for the same reason. Didn't get here the same way,” Porthos said, swinging his arms. "Not all regiments work the same way. Not all soldiers are driven by the same thing."

“So what drives you two?” d'Artagnan asked.

“That's all I've got until Aramis is back,” Porthos answered, shrugging.

“OK,” d'Artagnan replied, smiling to show he understood. “Does... Does Aramis let you... I don't know how to ask without sounding rude.”

“Just ask, lad. I'll answer what I can,” Porthos said, pulling his shirt on.

“Well what I wanted to ask originally was do you think it's OK that I look after Athos?”

“How do you mean?” asked Porthos, frowning.

“Well I said you two protect each other with equal fervour. Does that... You take care of each other? Both of you?” d'Artagnan asked hesitantly.

“Yeah. Some of it's just because we love each other. The rest... Well he takes care of me because I'm his and I take care of him because he's my... well y'know,” Porthos replied, cutting himself off suddenly.

“I'm beginning to,” d'Artagnan said. He smiled softly when Porthos sat down. “I just don't think Athos sees that as... acceptable. He's certainly serious about taking care of me but I guess I don't think he sees it as OK for me to do the same.”

“Our Athos isn't one to be coddled but don't underestimate the noble in 'im. They all like to be served,” Porthos said, pulling his boots on. “Come on. Let's eat.”

 


	38. Chapter 38

After they'd eaten in the common room, Porthos and d'Artagnan engaged a couple of locals in a few hands of cards. Despite having their backs to the door, Porthos could tell the moment Aramis and Athos walked in. He could always feel Aramis. He turned to look over his shoulder and sure enough, Aramis was already striding over to him.

D'Artagnan noticed where Porthos was looking and leapt up at Aramis' approach. He barely greeted him, though, settling for clapping him on the shoulder. Instead, he walked quickly to the only man in the room he had eyes for who was talking to the innkeeper.

“This gentleman tells me we have rooms here?” asked Athos as d'Artagnan reached him.

“We do,” the Gascon confirmed.

Athos nodded, his eyes roaming across the room. He made a small gesture with his hand and d'Artagnan took a step closer. Athos' gloved hand closed briefly around d'Artagnan's wrist, squeezed once and finally after nearly two weeks apart, their eyes met.

D'Artagnan felt his mouth go instantly dry. There was so much in Athos' eyes it took his breath away. He could easily recognise the pleasure at being together again as it was his over-riding emotion as well. There was also longing, fatigue, intensity and, combined with the pressure on his wrist, a hunger there that made d'Artagnan feel suddenly shy, even as his own heart began to race.

“Have you eaten?” Athos asked, his voice perfectly calm. D'Artagnan nodded mutely. “Wine and glasses. Two plates of whatever hot food you have, please,” Athos said, turning to the innkeeper.

Receiving a nod of assent, Athos finally released d'Artagnan's wrist and with a gentle hand on the small of his back, ushered him back to the table he'd recently vacated.

It appeared during their brief absence, their new friends were just finishing their card game and departing. It seemed Porthos had intentionally ended it sooner, losing the few coins they'd put down.

Athos and d'Artagnan took their seats, opposite Porthos and Aramis. Almost in unison, the four of them sighed. While each of them got along with all of the others perfectly well, they never felt like a complete unit until the four of them sat together.

None of them spoke for long minutes, simply enjoying being close. When the wine and food arrived, Porthos and d'Artagnan began playing cards again while the others ate. D'Artagnan could feel himself glancing constantly at Athos and given the knowing smiles his friends were giving him, they'd all noticed. He couldn't care less, though. He was too overjoyed at being close to him again.

After only a couple of hours, the four of them retired with an agreement to get together in Athos and d'Artagnan's room at eight the next morning to discuss what each pair had discovered.

  
  


  
  


“You're so tired, Sire,” Porthos said quietly, gently stripping Aramis of his accoutrements once they were safely inside their room.

“I am, mi vida. Tough week,” he said sighing.

“Want to talk about it?” Porthos asked, already knowing the answer.

“No. I just want to be with you,” Aramis answered. He could tell by the small smile lifting Porthos' lips that he'd known the answer, too.

Aramis sighed happily as Porthos' strong arms circled him from behind to begin undoing his coat. Years of Porthos doing this for him never made it any less special.

It had started as a joke years ago when Aramis accused Porthos of bending the buckle on his baldric in his haste to get Aramis' clothes off him. Porthos had retaliated by making it agonisingly slow the following time but somehow it had morphed into a special ritual between them and it never failed to relax Aramis.

He shivered slightly when Porthos pressed a lingering kiss to the back of his neck.

“Ohh, mi vida,” Aramis sighed.

Porthos smiled and drew his lover's coat off, stepping away briefly to hang it up before returning and pulling Aramis' braces down. A hand on his wrist gently tugged him round until he faced his Aramis.

Aramis gently cradled Porthos' face and he kissed him sweetly. He deepened the kiss gently and sighed contentedly when Porthos' mouth opened to him instantly and his strong arms wrapped around Aramis' slender waist.

Porthos broke the kiss suddenly and looked down. He'd been gently tugging Aramis' shirt from his breeches and had come across a large patch of dried blood.

“Sire?” he asked, frowning.

“Not mine,” Aramis said quickly, releasing Porthos.

“What happened?” he asked, drawing Aramis' shirt off. He frowned disapprovingly at the bruising covering Aramis' ribs on one side.

“Turned out Bauffremont couldn't afford to pay most of his staff so he had created some really thin crimes and was forcing them to stay on as indentured workers. Athos and I put a stop to it. Some of his men were less than willing to let their female co-workers leave,” Aramis answered. Porthos recognised the darkening in his owner's tone and could easily imagine what the women had been put through.

“Reckon the Marquis knew?” Porthos asked, trailing his fingers gently over the darkened area.

“Specifics? No. That they were being hurt? If he'd stopped to think about it for a second, yes. I think he was too selfish and high minded to even consider their fate too much,” sighed Aramis.

Porthos murmured his agreement and began to undo the laces on Aramis' breeches. He walked Aramis back a few paces until the back of his legs hit the bed. He gently pushed his breeches down over his hips, being sure to firmly stroke his hands over Aramis' high, firm buttocks.

Aramis sighed at the contact and sat as the material left his hips. He winced as the bruising on his side twinged but felt the familiar rush of love when Porthos sank to his knees at his feet. He sighed again as Porthos began working on his long boots, drawing them off. He leaned back slightly, bracing his weight on his good arm, reaching out with the other to run his hand through Porthos' hair.

“You're so good to me,” he said affectionately.

Porthos smiled up at him, setting his second boot aside and slowly removing his hose before drawing his breeches off all the way. He felt Aramis' eyes on him as he settled back onto his heels, waiting for instructions. In the past this kind of moment used to make him nervous but based on his fatigue, Porthos guessed he just wanted to sleep tonight.

“You're wearing too many clothes,” Aramis said softly.

Rising to his feet, Porthos slowly stripped down to his breeches. He never made a show of taking his clothes off for Aramis. While his lover did like to be watched, Porthos always felt awkward trying to make himself sensual. Aramis didn't care in the slightest. Porthos was utterly beautiful in everything he did and as little time as possible between clothed and naked suited him fine.

“Yes and them,” Aramis said quietly when Porthos glanced at him, his hand hovering over the laces of his braies. Aramis had chosen to keep his on so it made Porthos hesitate before removing his own.

Once he was fully nude, Porthos again glanced at Aramis for direction.

“Candles. Bed,” Aramis answered.

Porthos smiled at his correct guess and quickly moved around the room seeing to the candles for the night. He felt around in the darkness for the bed and heard Aramis clear his throat pointedly.

“Sire?” asked Porthos, frowning in the dark.

“Well if we're staying here for a few days I think I might consider this a home from home,” Aramis answered.

“Yes Sire,” whispered Porthos and slid to his knees at the side of the bed.

It was one of their oldest rituals and one that had remained untouched by the years. Whenever they were at home, Porthos always knelt and waited for Aramis' instruction to get into bed at night. It was something that had remained through the years and was vitally important to them both.

The room was utterly silent and Porthos found himself growing uncomfortable as Aramis didn't respond. It was the first time he'd implemented this rule outside of their apartments since they'd been on holiday together two years previously. It was the first time in a long, long time Aramis hadn't simply beckoned him into bed almost immediately.

He heard Aramis shift and tensed, ready to move. After another minute during which Aramis didn't speak to him, he settled back onto his heels and scowled in the darkness, growing frustrated at the lack of attention. The hard floor was beginning to bother his knees and he wondered if Aramis had fallen asleep. How long was he supposed to stay here? Ignored, forgotten, unimportant. What if Aramis' ribs were hurting? How was Porthos supposed to help?

Perhaps he should just get up? If Aramis was asleep, what was the point in staying here? He inhaled sharply as the thought crossed his mind and he felt a wave of shame crash over him at his selfishness.

What was the point? Everything he'd ever built with Aramis. That was the point. Every word he'd said, promise he'd made. Aramis himself. That was the point. Aramis was the point. His Master was the point. He exhaled slowly and felt himself calm instantly. He closed his eyes, despite the dark room and concentrated on his breathing until all the tension left his body.

Aramis heard the shift in breathing and shifted on the bed so he could light the candle on the table beside him. He winced slightly as he sat up and observed Porthos. He watched adoringly as the tension visibly leaked out of his lover's kneeling form.

“Better now, querido?” he asked softly after another five minutes of silence had passed.

“Yes Master,” Porthos replied.

“Come,” he said and Porthos could hear the smile in his voice.

Porthos rose and slid into bed, laying down on his beside Aramis, who was still sitting up. He closed his eyes as he felt his lover's hand in his hair.

“What made you do that?” he asked without opening his eyes.

“I spent nearly a fortnight away from you. Athos kept asking me questions about how to balance things with d'Artagnan between wanting to playfully punish him at the same time as wanting to be proud of him,” Aramis answered, toying with the dark curls. “I realised it sounded exhausting and that I didn't appreciate the simplicity and dignity with which you obey me. I love that you're mine. I know that you love being mine. I want to remind us of that.”

Porthos' smile widened but he didn't reply.

“Since we're going to be here for a few days, I'd like to play a little game. I think I'd like you to stay where I can see you at all times. Not necessarily close to me, though that's preferable. I would, however, like you to stay in my line of sight,” Aramis said quietly.

Porthos nodded and Aramis tugged his hair sharply.

“Yes Master,” Porthos said, chuckling. He leaned his head forwards and managed to press a kiss to Aramis' knee.

Aramis smiled and turned to blow the candle out, hissing in pain as the movement caused his damaged ribs to throb. He lay down beside Porthos, just able to make his disapproving expression out.

“I'm fine,” he soothed, running his hand over Porthos' back.

“Think they're broken?” Porthos asked.

“Yes,” Aramis admitted reluctantly. “I'm doing much better than Athos, though.”

"Athos?" asked Porthos sharply.

"We'll talk about it tomorrow," Aramis replied.

Yawning, he stretched out on his back and beckoned Porthos closer. The larger man pressed up against Aramis' side, grateful the injury was on the opposite side and rested his cheek on Aramis' chest. He hovered his arm uncertainly, so used to simply draping it across Aramis' stomach. Aramis chuckled in the darkness and laced his fingers with Porthos' outstretched hand, pulling it up to rest their clasped hands over his heart.

 


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos and d'Artagnan have their own reunion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is quite long but you'll see why... It deserved all the extra time ;)

Next door Athos and d'Artagnan were getting ready for bed in a comfortable silence. Athos paused in undoing his belts to see d'Artagnan who was yawning, half way through a stretch.

“Yesss?” asked d'Artagnan, lowering his arms and noticing Athos watching him.

“I have missed you. I knew I was missing you while we were apart but seeing you here in front of me I see... I have **missed** you,” Athos said earnestly. He dropped his eyes, slightly embarrassed.

He looked up again when he felt d'Artagnan's arms go round his waist. They smiled at each other and d'Artagnan reached up to remove Athos' hat, tossing it carelessly onto a chair nearby.

“I've missed you too,” d'Artagnan murmured. He rested his head on Athos' shoulder and smiled, feeling Athos' arms tighten around his waist, pulling them closer together.

Athos rested his head on d'Artagnan's shoulder and pressed his face against the slender neck. He inhaled deeply and felt the scent fill him like a breath of fresh air.

Spending time alone with d'Artagnan was all he'd wanted for the entire week they'd been apart. Despite their success with the Marquis, he remained dissatisfied with their inability to seek justice for Phoebe. While the Marquis had been a desperate man, he was largely responsible for her death. In order to get Renauld to put his full confession on record, they'd had to omit the part where he was present for her death, thus exonerating him from prosecution. He and Aramis had searched long and hard for any family but she'd been with Madame Truyart's family since she was a child. They'd taken her in when her mother had died of fever. Her father had died in a farming accident so she had died alone in the world. With Madame Truyart having left the vineyard, she remained alone.

He inhaled in surprise to feel d'Artagnan's hands moving to undo his belts, breaking into his melancholy.

“Missed me too, huh?” Athos asked teasingly, his hands stroking d'Artagnan's back gently.

“Oh it's not like that,” he replied quietly. “I just haven't seen you for a while and I can feel you're upset. I would very much like to take care of you.”

Athos blinked in surprise and loosened his grip on the man slightly to give d'Artagnan room to work. He stood awkwardly as d'Artagnan moved entirely out of his embrace to remove all of his accoutrements.

Watching d'Artagnan move around him, Athos found himself beginning to blush at the look on his face. Noticing this, the Gascon stopped and smiled at him.

“Hey. What is it?” he asked softly. He stepped closer and began to undo Athos' jacket.

“You humble me with your affection,” Athos answered in a strained whisper, unable to meet d'Artagnan's eyes.

“You deserve it. That and my service. I have said before, and will do so again, that you are the best man I know,” d'Artagnan said quietly.

He finished undoing Athos' jacket and moved to behind him to draw it slowly off his shoulders. He tossed it carelessly onto a chair and remained close to Athos' back. He was trying to stay close to him, making sure he had no opportunity to tense up.

Athos smiled, feeling d'Artagnan's arms wrap around him from behind, pulling him close. As the Gascon rested his chin on Athos' shoulder, he reached up behind him and stroked d'Artagnan's face tenderly.

“Do you remember that night all those months ago? When we lay together for the first time?” d'Artagnan asked. He began to unwind Athos' scarf, circling him while he trailed the thin fabric through his hands.

“I do,” Athos answered, smiling.

“I told you something that night I want to remind you of,” d'Artagnan said quietly.

“I seem to remember a lot of begging,” Athos said, slyly.

D'Artagnan laughed and tugged Athos' shirt off. His fingers traced the line of a dark bruise on his arm. Ignoring it for now, he gently pushed Athos forwards until they reached the bed. He gestured to the bed and Athos curiously followed his direction, stretching out on the bed on his stomach.

“I told you I was yours,” d'Artagnan murmured. He removed Athos' boots and hose and grinned at the curious look Athos was giving him over his shoulder. He moved onto the bed and stretched out on his side beside Athos.

Running a hand over Athos' back, d'Artagnan smiled to hear Athos sigh softly. He moved his hand in circles over Athos' shoulders, pressing slightly harder. He could feel the muscles under his hand full of tension.

“Mmm. Puppy. Thank you,” Athos murmured, his eyes closing.

D'Artagnan smiled and moved to sit on the back of Athos' thighs. He smoothed his hands up and over the expanse of skin. Athos had pillowed his head on his hands and d'Artagnan was pleased to notice his eyes were still closed and a small smile was gracing his lips.

“Move down a bit please,” he murmured. “Off my thighs.”

D'Artagnan complied and shifted his weight onto the dip of Athos' knees instead.

Athos sighed contentedly as he felt d'Artagnan beginning to massage his waist. His hands were slightly rough, a farm upbringing having that effect, but there was a sense of relief that came with each touch he'd never felt before.

The whole world rapidly fell away as d'Artagnan's hands began to explore the lines of muscles on his waist and lower back, seeking out areas of tightness and digging in slightly. The small circular motions of his thumbs into the muscles gradually undid every tight knot of tension and he could feel himself relaxing further with every slight dig. He'd denied himself this for too long. Closeness. Affection. Even in those moments with his best friends, he was always an outsider. A very welcome and much loved outsider but d'Artagnan... D'Artagnan was his. This was only about the two of them and he luxuriated in the feel of the adoring hands on him.

Methodically, d'Artagnan moved upwards. He moved his hands up, side by side, stopping every time they found any area of tension and determinedly working away at it. When he finally reached Athos' shoulders, the Musketeer obligingly lowered his arms without being asked, granting the Gascon access to the tight joints.

Athos couldn't stop the small groan that came to his lips when d'Artagnan's hand found a particularly tight knot of muscle right up by his neck on one side. The Gascon moved both of his hands to the area, his thumbs working in opposite circles, trying to loosen the area. After a few minutes of increasing pressure, he moved on unsuccessfully.

“Mmm?” Athos protested, beyond words.

“I don't want to hurt you,” d'Artagnan explained, lowering his upper body to whisper in Athos' ear.

Athos simply shrugged the affected shoulder encouragingly and groaned softly when d'Artagnan's hands landed on the tight bundle of tissue again.

D'Artagnan bit his lip nervously as the muscle still refused to give under the pressure. The skin on his thumbs was turning white so it must be growing painful by now. He dug in slightly harder and suddenly felt it beginning to move beneath his digits. Athos groaned again, turning his face to muffle the noise in the pillow and d'Artagnan felt a lurch of desire at the noise. It was pure pleasure and he'd do anything to hear it again.

After another twenty minutes where d'Artagnan found no more tight spots and was simply exploring Athos' back and sides, the Musketeer wasn't sure whether his muscles were relaxed or whether d'Artagnan had actually managed to remove all his bones.

“Oh puppy,” he breathed as d'Artagnan's hands settled on hips again.

“Hi,” d'Artagnan said quietly.

Athos made to turn over and d'Artagnan obligingly lifted his weight up giving him room. He hovered uncertainly and chuckled when Athos raised an eyebrow.

“You asked me to stay off your thighs but I can't sit on your knees this side. They don't bend that way,” he teased.

“Perhaps you should undress and lay beside me instead,” Athos suggested, smiling.

D'Artagnan laughed and followed the suggestion, standing and stripping quickly. He couldn't stop himself from blushing as Athos' eyes roamed across him. When he removed his breeches and stood in just his small-clothes, he gestured at Athos with a smirk.

“OK. Don't get upset, though,” Athos said and he undid the laces on his trousers, shimmying them down his hips without standing up.

There was a hesitant note in Athos' voice d'Artagnan hadn't heard before. It wasn't shyness and d'Artagnan couldn't stop himself from leaning over to help him pull them down his legs. His breath caught in his throat, though, when his eyes were drawn instantly to the large patch of dried blood on Athos' braies, covering his left thigh. He glanced at the breeches in his hand and his fingers found a hastily repaired slash on the back of the left leg.

Athos obligingly lifted his leg, placing his foot flat on the bed. He studied d'Artagnan's face carefully as his fingers gently probed the rip in his braies.

“Can I see?” he asked.

Athos frowned. They'd never actually been naked together and he felt a lurch of desire at the thought but this time there were definitely nerves.

“I promise I won't ravish you,” d'Artagnan said, grinning.

Athos rolled his eyes and turned onto his stomach, undoing the laces on his smalls as he moved. He pushed the material down over his hips and couldn't stop himself gasping as d'Artagnan's hands took the material and drew them down his legs.

It was a favourite trick of Aramis' in those moments he went to them in search of pain, exposing his buttocks like this to make him feel vulnerable. He couldn't help the flutter of butterflies that came when he felt d'Artagnan's eyes on him.

The Gascon was trying extremely hard not to be dishonourable but he couldn't help his mouth watering at the sight of Athos' exposed bottom. It was beautiful. The skin was somehow paler, covered with a thin layer of fair hair, just visible in the candlelight. The muscles were well formed and the skin looked remarkably taut. He felt a massive urge to continue his massage to see if the muscles were as tight as they looked.

Athos cleared his throat nervously and d'Artagnan shook himself.

“Sorry,” d'Artagnan said hoarsely. “One has to stop and admire art when they find it.”

A nervous laugh bubbled up inside Athos and he only just managed to stop himself squirming at the thought of d'Artagnan admiring him so openly. Finally the material uncovered the bandage on his thigh and d'Artagnan left the material bunched at his knees.

The bandage had grown loose, presumably from the day of riding, and d'Artagnan was able to pull it up slightly to reveal the long, deep wound on his leg.

“Oh Athos,” he breathed.

Riding must have been absolute agony. Even sitting on a chair must put painful pressure on this laceration. He could recognise Aramis' close, neat stitching and he couldn't help touching his fingers against it.

Athos hissed at the contact. It had been throbbing painfully all day but d'Artagnan's fingers felt blisteringly hot. He withdrew them instantly but after a few seconds he gently touched the wound again and Athos hissed involuntarily. This time he explored the wound gently, looking for signs of heat and swelling.

“It's not infected,” Athos said, correctly guessing what he was looking for.

“Just checking,” d'Artagnan said, lightly.

Athos felt himself relaxing again as d'Artagnan's fingers gently probed the area. He chuckled as the hand began to spread outwards, his fingertips pressing into the taut muscle around it.

“Puppy,” he said mildly.

“It seems tense muscles are my speciality tonight,” d'Artagnan murmured.

Athos sucked in a breath as he felt d'Artagnan settle on the bed again, resting on his ankles instead of his knees. The Gascon's hands resumed their massaging motions from earlier, starting at his calves. He was surprised how good it felt but he doubted he was going to be able to relax this time, hyper aware of his almost nudity.

D'Artagnan could feel Athos' tension and he had to admit, he felt it too. This time the air was charged with something else. He briefly pressed the heel of his hand against his groin, trying to prevent himself growing aroused.

The muscles on Athos' thighs were extremely tense and d'Artagnan recognised it as a hard day's riding. He concentrated both of his hands on his uninjured right leg, smoothing up and down the muscled limb firmly. Gradually he felt Athos' body melting against the bed again, unable to resist the soothing massaging motions of d'Artagnan's strong hands.

Each time his thumbs reached the crease between his thigh and the curve of his buttock, Athos felt the urge to hold his breath. He wasn't sure if he wanted to stop d'Artagnan or encourage him to continue upwards where he might brush against something more intimate. He couldn't stop the sudden exhale of breath when d'Artagnan's hands moved to the other leg. He clenched his hands as sharp stabs of pain shot through his leg.

“Shh. It will help. Relax. Let me relax your leg around the wound,” d'Artagnan urged.

Athos nodded, unable to form words. He noticed with a smile that d'Artagnan's voice was thick with arousal. His own would be too, if he could manage speech. He hissed out a breath as the sharp pains continued. He couldn't help shifting restlessly as the pain built.

D'Artagnan felt the muscles beginning to relax but could tell Athos was suffering. He was nearly done, though, and knew from experience that a well rested and relaxed body healed better than a rigidly tense one.

“Shh,” he murmured, smoothing his hands gently up and down the outside of his leg, well away from the wound. “I'm done. I'm done,” he said softly.

Athos was panting slightly and couldn't stop the involuntary shift in his body as the pain settled in his leg, the sharp pains fading to a dull throb.

“D'Artagnan,” he whispered, hoarsely. “Don't stop.”

D'Artagnan swallowed hard and felt another sudden shock of desire. Shaking hands rested on Athos' thighs again. He smoothed them both up, keeping his left one lighter to save the overly sensitive wound site. He bit his lip as his hands trailed further up, following the curve of his buttocks.

Athos was trying to hold himself utterly rigid but the work d'Artagnan's healing hands had done made his body utterly unable to stay too tense. His entire focus was on the feel of those Gascony hands, even if they were trembling. A groan sounded in the room when d'Artagnan's hands finally began to move in small circles, his fingers pressing into the firm muscled orbs. Athos realised with a shock of embarrassment that the groan had come from him.

The noise made d'Artagnan bolder and he dug in gently, concentrating on his task to relax his lover. His thumbs moved in their small circles, up and down in lines, working from the outside in.

Athos realised suddenly that he had become distinctly aroused, his erection painfully trapped and unable to reach fullness. He felt a bubble of panic as d'Artagnan's constantly moving thumbs grew closer and closer to the insides of his buttocks.

“Sir?” d'Artagnan asked hoarsely, having the same panic and stilling his hands.

Athos took a deep breath and recognised the pleading in his voice. He needed Athos to be his guide here.

“Help me off with my clothes,” the older man murmured, his voice a lot calmer than he felt.

D'Artagnan shuffled himself backwards until he was stood on the floor and drew Athos' clothes down the rest of his legs, leaving Athos entirely bare but on his stomach.

“Remove yours please,” Athos whispered, looking backwards over his shoulder.

D'Artagnan unlaced his braies with shaking hands and smiled gratefully when Athos turned away. He quickly shed them and felt himself flush with embarrassment as his erection sprang free.

“Come and lay beside me,” Athos said, patting the bed on his left.

D'Artagnan crawled onto the bed, flattening himself on his stomach and feeling slightly less nervous as his arousal was hidden from view.

Athos smiled softly as d'Artagnan settled beside him, his face flush.

“Come closer. Close enough to kiss me,” Athos whispered.

D'Artagnan smiled, his face instantly relaxing. He shuffled closer, pressing their naked hips and arms together. He felt Athos clasp his hand and their lips met gently.

D'Artagnan smiled against Athos' lips, their normal hesitancy gone today. They were firmer, more assertive, searching d'Artagnan's. The Gascon parted his lips slightly and felt Athos' eagerness as they moved together, the kiss deepening and moving past their up until now chaste contacts.

The Musketeer groaned softly and released d'Artagnan's hand, running his own up his lover's arm. He moved it up and over his shoulder, lacing into d'Artagnan's hair. The small whimper this elicited was a thing of beauty. Athos tightened his grip slightly and deepened the kiss still further, letting his tongue begin to explore d'Artagnan's mouth.

D'Artagnan had never been kissed like this. He was tender, considerate and yet demanding all at once. He pushed his tongue back against Athos' and felt, more than heard, him groan in appreciation. He panted in surprise as Athos suddenly broke the kiss.

That dark hunger was back in Athos' eyes and d'Artagnan found himself full of nerves again. Athos rolled onto right side, his sore leg raised, facing d'Artagnan. He gestured for d'Artagnan to mirror him and when he did so, quickly shuffled closer, his now freed arousal having reached full hardness and pressing against d'Artagnan's.

The Gascon gasped in surprise at the touch. Athos' member against his own felt like a blazing rod of heat and he had to clench his fist to stop himself staring. Athos gently took d'Artagnan's hand and placed it upon his own member. When the trembling fingers wrapped tentatively around him, Athos released his hand and mirrored his actions on d'Artagnan's length.

“Oh...” moaned d'Artagnan quietly. “You're so warm. I never imagined you-”

Athos chuckled at the nervous babbling and cut him off with a sudden kiss. He could feel d'Artagnan's hand twitch in surprise and he smiled against him. He released the Gascon's lips and held entirely still until his brown eyes met his own. He began to move his hand gently up and down on d'Artagnan's length and felt him jerk his hand in surprise on Athos' cock. Athos hissed uncomfortably and d'Artagnan quickly whispered an apology which was, again, cut off by a sudden kiss.

“You were so good at relaxing me,” Athos coaxed.

D'Artagnan chuckled breathlessly and nodded. Athos leaned forwards and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Then, as their eyes met, they began to move their hands in unison, d'Artagnan using Athos' movements as a guide. Athos groaned happily, finally feeling d'Artagnan's hand on him after months of imagining.

D'Artagnan was getting close to being overwhelmed again. He'd imagined for a long time finally being this close to Athos but he'd never imagined how emotional it would be. Finally hearing the soft little groans from the older man, knowing it was his touch causing them. Feeling his reactions, knowing he was letting himself be this open and vulnerable. Every word he said was carefully chosen but these small noises were pure instinct and reaction.

He finally understood why Athos had held himself back for so long, all of his defences were gone in this moment. He watched Athos carefully, seeing the beautiful face he admired so much lost in ecstasy. The knowledge his touch had put that expression there made him feel powerful and humbled all at once.

The room was filled with no sound other than their increasingly ragged breathing. Athos was trying hard to make this moment last as long as possible. Finally having d'Artagnan's hand upon him was like heaven. Those long talented fingers that had worked such magic upon his back and shoulders were no less sensitive and reactionary upon his cock. They responded to every twitch and groan brought to Athos' lips.

Athos suddenly crushed his mouth against d'Artagnan's, groaning against his lips. It made the younger man gasp in surprise and Athos kissed him fiercely, his tongue moving hungrily into d'Artagnan's open mouth.

He broke the kiss as quickly as he'd started it and simply pressed his forehead against d'Artagnan's. His hips had begun moving of their own accord, arching into d'Artagnan's hand on each movement. He could hear the gasps and whimpers from d'Artagnan growing in frequency and knew he, too, was close.

The Gascon moaned suddenly, feeling the familiar tightening in his stomach as he began to grow breathless. He tried to concentrate on his hand's movements to bring Athos his pleasure. He forced his eyes open and saw Athos' face entirely lost in sensation. His eyes were closed and his mouth had fallen open in a silent expression of joy.

He tried hard to resist his orgasm but Athos was too experienced and knew him too well to be put off. He moaned as his orgasm hit him, his hips stuttering uncontrollably into Athos' hand. After a second, while the waves of pleasure were still crashing over him there was a loud groan and he felt Athos' entire body shuddering as he too found release.

As d'Artagnan felt his body calming, he forced his eyes open to look at Athos, who was still shuddering violently. It was a glorious sight to see him so unguarded. He stroked him with his hand firmly once or twice while the tremors subsided.

Finally the grey eyes opened and a sleepy smile spread across his face, seeing d'Artagnan gazing at him. They released each other and clasped hands. They were both wet and sticky but didn't care in the slightest. They were simply content to lay together while they calmed. Athos was still experiencing small aftershocks, his body shuddering.

When it finally stopped, Athos chuckled quietly.

“Might I ask you to help me stand? It would appear I have undone all your good work and my leg is not co-operating,” he said drowsily.

“Stay there, Sir. What can I do for you?” d'Artagnan asked, squeezing his hand gently.

“Might you source a cloth?” Athos suggested, raising an eyebrow.

D'Artagnan laughed suddenly, feeling remarkably naïve for not having considered cleaning up. He stood and looked around. Athos cleared his throat pointedly and d'Artagnan blushed. He slowly revolved on the spot for Athos' viewing pleasure.

“Splendid,” Athos said sincerely.

D'Artagnan's blush deepened and he quickly found a spare cloth on a chair. He hurriedly cleaned himself up, wiping his stomach and hand. He returned to Athos who held his hand out for the cloth.

“I'm taking care of you, remember? Especially now I know you're injured,” d'Artagnan teased.

Athos smiled drowsily and rolled onto his back, keeping his left knee bent to avoid his wound coming into contact with the bed. He watched d'Artagnan admiring his naked form and was pleasantly surprised he felt no nerves about it any more. It had never been body confidence preventing him from opening up to d'Artagnan.

He couldn't help the sudden shudder, however, that ran through him as d'Artagnan gently cleaned his stomach and softened cock. He handled him with such gentility and tenderness Athos couldn't help reaching for him.

The Gascon, however, misunderstood and started to clean his hand. Once finished, he lifted it to his mouth and kissed it gently. He moaned softly at the taste of their mingled seed lingering on Athos' skin. From the heat in his gaze, Athos knew what had caused the noise.

“Help me stand,” Athos requested.

“No, no. You need to rest,” d'Artagnan argued.

“I wish to get under the sheet with you to sleep,” Athos explained, beginning to pull himself up.

D'Artagnan grinned and helped him stand, letting him lean on him. He used his free arm to pull the sheets back, clearing a space for him. He glanced at d'Artagnan to find him frowning and he raised his eyebrow in question.

“You're more hurt than I realised,” d'Artagnan said.

“I'm realising now that I'm more hurt than I realised. Aramis has been arguing with me to take it easy but I needed to get to you,” Athos answered honestly.

D'Artagnan blushed again and pressed a kiss into Athos' hair. Together they manoeuvred Athos into bed and d'Artagnan quickly joined him, dousing their candles.

Athos grumbled, unable to find a comfortable sleeping position. He hated sleeping on his stomach and he'd grown uncomfortable on his side. It appeared that his orgasm had undone all of d'Artagnan's hard work and his thigh had seized. D'Artagnan suddenly hopped out of bed and Athos listened curiously as he moved around.

He felt d'Artagnan lift his leg and he obligingly placed his foot on the bed to give the Gascon's hands access. He groaned in pain but made no motion to stop him when he felt the hands repeating their massaging motions. After a minute he felt d'Artagnan redo the bandage more securely and then encourage his leg back down. Lowering it, he felt a bundled up cloak being settled and adjusted under his knee, keeping his thigh from touching the mattress.

“Mmm. Much better,” he murmured, patting the bed beside him.

D'Artagnan quickly moved round and slid back into bed beside him. He nestled up to Athos' side and felt the Musketeer's arm go round him.

“You might put Aramis out of a job,” Athos mused. “You make an excellent medic.”

“Mm. Couldn't stitch you. Just take care of you,” d'Artagnan argued.

“So well,” he murmured in reply.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“We'll go through everything tomorrow,” Athos answered. “What've you done today?”

D'Artagnan smiled at Athos' questioning. It warmed him from the inside that he wanted to know all about his activity. It had been established downstairs that Porthos and d'Artagnan had spent most of the day simply waiting for them.

“Not much. Visited the last farm on the list this morning, then had luncheon with Madame Truyart's family. Then...” d'Artagnan trailed off.

“Mmm?” prompted Athos.

D'Artagnan nuzzled into Athos' chest.

“I upset Porthos,” d'Artagnan admitted.

“How?”

“He told me something about his relationship and I didn't believe it at first and then reacted badly,” d'Artagnan said, sadly.

Athos was quiet for a moment and brought his hand up to comb his fingers through d'Artagnan's hair.

“Better now?” Athos asked, ambiguously.

“Yes, Sir. He is. We're fine. It's brought up a lot of questions for me about them, though. I'm a bit...” d'Artagnan trailed off again.

“What was it he told you?” Athos asked curiously. He was playing with some of the dark hair in his fingers.

“He... Aramis... Aramis owns him,” d'Artagnan said quietly.

“Ahh. You realised it's more than simply one has the final say in decisions?” Athos surmised.

“Yes. He... he genuinely owns and controls Porthos. It took me by surprise. I'd thought it was something light hearted like we are. You're definitely the boss out of the two of us and I am yours but... ownership? That's...” he trailed off.

“They are certainly beyond our design. While I may have some proprietary feelings towards you, they go beyond that. You are **my** puppy like they are **my** friends. It's just the way we relate to each other. Porthos is Aramis' the way...” Athos trailed off, struggling for words.

“He likened it to the Captain so he's Aramis' the way we're Tréville's,” d'Artagnan said quietly.

“That's a good way of putting it,” Athos said quietly. He resumed running his fingers through the dark hair. “Would you like me to help you talk to him?”

“I managed to get him to talk to me after a little while. I think I just upset him that I was judgemental, even if only for a minute. He welcomed the conversation when I went back,” d'Artagnan replied.

“Went back?”

“Oh the first conversation was a disaster, Sir,” d'Artagnan chuckled softly. “He very politely kicked me out when I upset him. I went back after a little while, though, and we talked it through.”

“You went back?” asked Athos again.

D'Artagnan lifted his head to look at the Musketeer and found a small smile on his face. He frowned curiously.

“I'm so proud of you,” Athos said, guiding d'Artagnan's head back onto his chest. “That's a big piece of information to accept and I'm proud that you didn't hide from it.”

“I did consider it,” d'Artagnan admitted, shrugging slightly. “I thought it would be easier with Aramis and you there but then I thought how uncomfortable Porthos looks about sharing at all. I thought talking to him alone would show him he can trust me not to push.”

Athos continued to toy with d'Artagnan's hair absent mindedly.

“That was brave of you,” he mused. “I can easily imagine Porthos having closed down further. Do you still have questions you'd like to talk to them about?”

“Not questions really, no. I'm curious, sure. It's their life though. It does explain why he shut down when I talked about being able to play up with you, though. His reality is that he can't, right?” d'Artagnan asked.

“Right,” confirmed Athos. “He lives under Aramis' rule.”

“Hmm. I don't think I want that,” d'Artagnan murmured.

“I'm not sure I do, either. I love to feel you're mine. I certainly have a sincere sense of pride when you do well. I think, however, I like my misbehaving boy far too much,” Athos said quietly, his voice growing drowsy.

“I do too,” d'Artagnan whispered, sensing Athos was on the verge of sleep after such a taxing day. “One day you might have to make good on your promise to teach me a lesson, though.”

 


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a night of rest, Aramis and Porthos have their own reunion.

Aramis woke slowly, luxuriating in the feeling of a soft bed under him. The last time he and Athos had slept anywhere other than the ground had been before they left Truyart's house. Even then he hadn't had the pleasure of waking up with the steady warmth of his lover by his side. He could hear rain steadily beating against the windows and considered how lucky their timing was at not having to ride through this.

Porthos was still sleeping solidly, soft snoring vibrating through his body. Aramis yawned widely and stretched out on his back. He hissed in pain as his still healing ribs gave a twinge of pain. This small noise was enough to wake Porthos who mumbled something Aramis couldn't hear.

“Pardon?” he asked softly.

“Still bad?” Porthos repeated, his eyes still closed.

“Indeed. Better though,” he murmured honestly.

At this Aramis saw Porthos' lips curve into a small smile. He tugged gently on Porthos' hair and he obligingly followed, pressing a gentle kiss to Aramis' lips. Pulling away, he finally opened his eyes and his smile widened seeing Aramis beside him.

“Pleased to see me?” Aramis asked.

Porthos replied by pressing his morning affliction into Aramis' leg and lowering his head to nuzzle into his neck. The marksman laughed easily, the light sound filling the room.

“Not what I meant but it does, indeed, answer my question,” he said, stroking through Porthos' curls.

“Mhmm,” was the only answer as Porthos had begun to trail small kisses along the line of Aramis' jaw.

“You can go back to sleep if you like. Dawn has only just broken,” Aramis replied with little conviction.

Porthos chuckled quietly, his breath passing across the sensitive skin on Aramis' throat. He brought his hand up to Aramis' chest and smoothed it across his skin, gently pressing against his nipples, palming them to hardness. Aramis sighed, a blissful relaxed sound. With a small stab of pain he lifted his arms and folded them beneath his head, relaxing into Porthos' attention.

Porthos glanced up to check on Aramis, having felt him tense up with the movement but was reassured by his calm smile and lowered his mouth again to Aramis' neck. He nuzzled against his jaw where his beard had begun to grow after so long in the field. He moved lower to the spot where his jaw met his neck and swiped his tongue firmly across Aramis' pulse point.

He was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath but was dismayed at the pained stutter in Aramis' breathing as his ribs throbbed.

“I'm an injured man, mi vida. No sudden movements,” Aramis scolded gently.

Porthos grinned against his skin and nodded his agreement. He gently drew the skin into his teeth and held it there for a moment until Aramis lifted his chin, baring his neck to Porthos. He gently bit down, not hard enough to leave a mark but enough to make Aramis moan softly. He let go and sucked the skin firmly, drawing the blood to the surface, before pressing his tongue against it again.

“Mmm, Porthos,” Aramis breathed.

Porthos risked a look up and Aramis' face was slack with bliss. It always took his breath away when Aramis said his name like that. Full of love and sacred as a prayer.

Porthos resumed his movements with his hand and there was a tutting noise from Aramis.

“Hey. Hands off. I really don't think you can keep that wandering hand away from my injury” he murmured.

“Well there's so much of you I want to touch,” Porthos rumbled softly, keeping his lips against Aramis' neck.

“It wasn't a suggestion,” Aramis said wickedly.

Porthos withdrew his hand as if burned and looked at Aramis. Their eyes met and they were both full of heat. Apparently Aramis had been quite serious about making their positions clear and the very idea filled Porthos with a bizarre mix of safety and fear. It was that mix they'd both been missing and clearly Aramis reinstating it was sending bolts of desire through both of them.

Aramis lifted the arm on his good side down from his head and unceremoniously threw the sheet off himself, revealing Porthos' ministrations had had at least half the desired effect. He watched as the familiar yet recently rare look on Porthos' face appeared. He was silently asking for directions and it made Aramis want to kiss him fiercely.

“Make love to me,” he instructed quietly.

At this Porthos couldn't resist the urge to kiss Aramis and did so. Aramis could feel him holding himself back, trying to let Aramis lead but he was quickly losing his restraint at having not just Aramis back but having his owner back in control.

Aramis bit firmly on Porthos' invading tongue and couldn't help chuckling at the chagrined look on Porthos' face it caused. He raised his eyebrows and Porthos kissed him lightly before rising. He quickly located the bottle of oil in Aramis' bags but stopped on his way back to the bed.

The sight of Aramis was almost painfully beautiful. He was still reclined on his back, his head comfortably resting on his arms. As naked as the day he was born, his beautifully muscled torso was open to Porthos' hungry gaze. He drank in the sight of him, the planes on his chest, the way the dark hair dusted across his skin, the line of his ribs, the soft dip of his stomach and the mouth watering line of his hips. Even the dark purple patch of bruising on his side couldn't mar what Porthos considered perfection.

“My love?” prompted Aramis gently.

“Mmm. Sorry, Sire,” murmured Porthos, returning to the bed. “Got distracted by how beautiful you are.”

Aramis never failed to be amazed how easily Porthos said these things. He was used to being admired and knew how good he looked but the way Porthos said things was different. They were never a fish for his own compliments, never a manipulation and, as so often happened with women, a shallow observation about the man they had secured. Porthos always said them as if he meant them about Aramis' very soul.

“I am made more beautiful by the love I carry for you,” he murmured, parting his knees.

Porthos settled between them, sitting on his heels. There was a faint embarrassment in his eyes and Aramis smiled to see it. While Porthos was a pro at giving compliments easily, he was not so good at taking them.

“I mean it, Porthos. You are a part of me. All the joie de vivre you have is a part of me. The strength and courage that you carry fill me just as much. You shine like the brightest star in the night sky and the fact that I love you more than my own life makes me shine all the brighter,” Aramis murmured softly.

“Eres mi sol,” Porthos answered, his voice thick with unspoken emotion.

“Indeed. Eres mi vida,” Aramis said. “Now I do believe I gave you an instruction,” he added.

Porthos huffed out a breath and Aramis watched as lust rose in his eyes again. The way Porthos' eyes dragged down the length of his body was decidedly hungrier this time and Aramis preened under the attention.

Ideally he'd take Porthos himself, selfishly and hard, just the way they both liked it when Aramis was in this dominant mood. He didn't think, however, his ribs were up to it. This way Porthos could do all the work and the very idea of reclining here while Porthos obeyed his every whim was making his cock rapidly harden as he watched Porthos oiling up his fingers, his eyebrows raised suggestively.

As he felt Porthos' fingers touch his entrance he couldn't help but moan suddenly. He hadn't even breached Aramis but it had been far too long since they'd been this intimate. Last night he'd simply been too tired and too sore but this... this was heaven.

Aramis concentrated on the feeling of Porthos' gently probing digits circling him, pressing lightly but not entering. He sighed deeply, wincing when his ribs protested, and relaxed more firmly against the bed. Porthos knew him so well.

When the first knuckle of Porthos' finger finally invaded Aramis, he moaned again and impatiently clenched his muscles around the thick digit.

Porthos grinned, watching Aramis. He was always glorious but never more so when he was just lost in sensation. He wrapped his free hand around Aramis' mostly hard member and pushed his finger all the way in at the same time. He had to bite his own lip to stop from groaning at the sight of Aramis caught between arching into Porthos' hand but at the same time wanting to press against the finger inside him. He gently withdrew the finger slightly before pressing back in again.

Aramis half laughed and half moaned at the sensation. Clearly Porthos intended this to be slow and Aramis was happy to enjoy but he couldn't help the building desire that made his body demand more from Porthos' familiar hands. He let Porthos continue for a few more strokes, the long slow movements and the warm, strong hand holding still on his length driving him to distraction.

“Porthos,” he breathed, no other instruction being necessary.

His lover obeyed immediately, quickly adding a second finger and marvelling at the low moan it drew from Aramis. Porthos sucked in a breath as he suddenly realised that despite the fact Aramis was sprawled out defencelessly in front of him, waiting for Porthos to take him, he was still obeying. The reminder of the extent of the power Aramis had over him was comforting and he refocussed his energy on Aramis' body, trying to listen for silent indicators of what he wanted.

It took longer this time for Aramis to be ready for more. He rarely enjoyed sex to be painful when on the receiving end, unlike Porthos. His ribs were bothering him more as he grew increasingly aroused and took deeper breaths. It was only with Porthos' hand beginning to slide gently up and down his shaft that he was able to relax his muscles enough to admit a third digit.

He writhed on the bed under Porthos' hands and moaned softly. With three of Porthos' fingers inside him, he'd managed to cross the line into pure pleasure and he could barely feel his ribs any more. His hips arched of their own accord into Porthos' hand and he moaned again as his lover's hand began to stroke in rhythm with his other hand.

Aramis was rapidly coming apart beneath Porthos, beneath those hands that knew him. That knew just how he liked to be stretched, just how much grip to use, when to twist, when not to. After long minutes of simply enjoying the feeling he managed to marshal his voice enough to whisper Porthos' name, albeit hoarsely.

Both hands left him slowly and, with a gentleness most people don't realise Porthos capable of possessing, he felt his legs gently lifted as Porthos shuffled closer. They were gently draped over Porthos' spread thighs, opening him further to his lover's attentions. It was mere moments before he felt the soft head of Porthos nudging at his entrance.

Pressing in, Porthos waited, his teeth caught on his lower lip. He knew he was thick and no matter how prepared Aramis was, he always needed this time. Each time they came together this way, Porthos grew more and more certain it was simply Aramis savouring the moment and, in his own way, torturing Porthos by making him hold still.

Finally Aramis' hips lowered and Porthos pressed further in, again stopping to allow Aramis' body to adjust. It appeared that was unnecessary, though when Aramis' hands came down from above his head and beckoned Porthos closer.

Porthos obediently shifted his weight to lean over Aramis. He frowned as Aramis hissed in pain but when the black eyes opened and met his, he realised it was just the shift in position jostling him slightly.

Aramis beckoned with his hands and Porthos placed them where indicated, either side of Aramis' shoulders. His lover lowered his arms to his sides but bent his arms so his hands came up to encircle Porthos' wrists, squeezing tight enough to make Porthos groan. He definitely liked his sex to hurt a little.

“Mmm. Make love to me, my boy,” Aramis hummed.

Porthos groaned again and sank the rest of the way into Aramis' body. There was an appreciative squeeze on his wrists as the two of them were fully connected. As much as this was the moment **he** liked to savour, an impatient clench of muscles around him reminded him of his instruction.

Aramis sighed blissfully as Porthos obediently began to thrust in out of him, gloriously slowly. Each move out felt like a gentle caress and each time he returned it felt like being taken for the first time. He could feel Porthos trembling with the control needed but he found he didn't much care. He knew Porthos had enough muscle control to cope and this was all about him.

The same thoughts were crashing through Porthos' mind. He straightened his arms and locked his elbows to help them but his thighs were quivering from the strain. His mind flashed unhelpfully back to his afternoon working out in front of d'Artagnan and he realised here was living proof that what he'd said the previous day was true. Aramis owned him.

“Oh.. mi viiiidaaa,” moaned Aramis, his voice drawing the word out. A word he said two or three times a day in the most ordinary of circumstances said like that sounded downright obscene.

“Sire,” groaned Porthos.

Aramis forced his eyes open and smirked up at Porthos.

“May I... Sire... May I kiss you?” Porthos asked.

“No,” Aramis answered, the black eyes glittering dangerously.

Porthos swallowed, surprised. He continued to move slowly in and out of Aramis but silently begged him to explain.

“I'm not making love to you. You're doing this for me. All about me, remember?” Aramis asked.

“Yes Master,” whimpered Porthos.

Aramis smiled, his face a perfect picture of smugness and he closed his eyes, tugging gently on Porthos' wrists in a silent demand that he speed up.

Porthos felt like he'd been struck in the gut but obeyed all the same. He moved slightly faster, still nowhere near the brutal pace Aramis usually used. His mind was reeling from Aramis' comment. The truth in it wrapped itself around his heart like a warm blanket. He didn't need to worry about the burning desire to fuck Aramis into the mattress. He didn't need to try and slake his thirst for Aramis' mouth. It suddenly dawned on him that Aramis had absolutely no intention of letting him reach his own release and while that did have its usual effect of making Porthos' cock throb with delicious denial, he welcomed it. He belonged to Aramis. He was Aramis' to do with as he will because no matter what happened, Aramis had him well looked after.

Aramis moaned loudly, feeling a sudden shift in Porthos' movements. Instead of concentrating simply on his speed being pleasing, Porthos had begun to roll his hips on each thrust, hitting Aramis in all the right places that only he knew about. He forced his eyes open and found such concentration and devotion on Porthos' face it took his breath away.

“Mine,” he whispered, squeezing Porthos' wrists painfully.

“Yes Master. Yours,” Porthos replied, never ceasing in his smooth, controlled motions.

Aramis luxuriated in the feeling. He was floating on a cloud of pure bliss. Here he was, with his lover, being taken in the most pleasurable way imaginable. His muscles had long since relaxed and they welcomed Porthos each time, allowing him to smoothly move inside him.

Watching Porthos' face he saw the strain this was taking on him and he felt heat building in his stomach. He knew. He understood. The pleasure Porthos was feeling was consequential but they could both feel it healing and tending to something they hadn't realised was truly injured.

“Up boy. Hold me,” he gasped, releasing Porthos' wrists.

Obediently, the larger man paused and gathered Aramis into his arms, sitting back on his heels. Aramis arched his back and moaned in satisfaction as the shift in position drove Porthos deeper into his body.

Strong arms came up and wrapped around him, pressing their chests together. Aramis felt another spike of desire as he felt the sweat covering Porthos' skin. His own cock was pressed firmly against Porthos' stomach.

They began to move together, their movements much less smooth in this position. Aramis didn't care, though. He was getting so close and just needed Porthos' proximity.

Dipping his head he crushed his lips against Porthos', swallowing the groan of surprise. He kissed him hard, painfully, hands clutching at his hair, tugging sharply. When Porthos gasped in pain Aramis roughly thrust his tongue into Porthos' willing mouth. He was possessive, controlling and almost violent in the way he claimed Porthos' mouth.

He moaned, long and low, the sound swallowed by the bruising kiss and their thrusts together became faster, harder. The heat surrounding his cock as it moved between their bellies was pure bliss. He could feel the steady warmth of Porthos' arms around him and he was rapidly falling apart in his embrace.

A sudden sharp yank to Porthos' hair and the growl of pain that vibrated through them both was all Aramis needed to find release and he moaned loudly, Porthos' mouth swallowing most of the noise.

Porthos screwed his eyes closed as Aramis clenched hard around him. The sensation of his spend filling what little gap there was between their sweaty bodies was joyous and the sharp stabs of pain on his scalp were making it even harder to control his orgasm. Aramis arched his back and Porthos watched with awe as the last waves of his orgasm passed through him, the dark hair that normally tumbled around his ears was plastered to his face.

He had to bite his lip, fighting down his own orgasm. It had been a long time since Aramis had actually denied him, usually only making him wait or demanding that they spend together. He felt Aramis finally release the painful grip on his hair and the throb of pain made him bite his lip even harder.

Aramis went limp in his arms, his head falling forwards onto Porthos' shoulder. He heard a breathy giggle in his ear and couldn't help smiling. It was such an honest, adorable sound he made whenever he was starting to come back to the world, afterglow spreading through him.

Carefully tightening his embrace around his lover, Porthos rose up on his knees and ever so gently laid Aramis down on his back. A shudder ran through him from head to toe as Porthos slowly withdrew, his cock still rock hard.

“Master?” whispered Porthos, trying not to disturb the blissful state Aramis was still in.

“Mmm?” Aramis asked without opening his eyes.

“Mind if I clean us up?” Porthos asked.

“Yes please,” Aramis murmured. A huge smile spread across his sleepy face at Porthos asking to leave his side.

He couldn't stop the breathy giggle which turned into a soft moan as Porthos gently cleaned between his legs. He repeated the noises with a definite squirm as Porthos cleaned his member carefully and wiped up his stomach.

Porthos cleaned himself up, squeezing hard on the base of his cock, trying to fight down the arousal still coursing through him. He watched Aramis, amused. He was sprawled on his back, exactly where Porthos had placed him. His hair was sticking up all over the place, thick sections plastered to his sweat covered face. His legs were still parted where Porthos had cleaned him. He had to fight down another wave of desire seeing the tissues swollen and red from the prolonged sex.

He joined Aramis on the bed, gathering him into his arms again and holding him tightly. He gently brushed the hair off his face and pressed light kisses into the dark waves. Aramis murmured his approval and pressed closer against Porthos' body.

He couldn't stop the groan that came to his lips when Aramis' body pressed against his erection and he rolled his eyes when this made Aramis chuckle darkly.

“You're mean,” Porthos grumbled, pressing his face into Aramis' hair again.

“And you're sublime,” Aramis answered, simply. “I do, however, wish to amend the game.”

“The line of sight?” Porthos asked.

“Yes. I'm going to revert to our standard, within arm's reach wherever possible and you ask or at least let me know when you're leaving,” Aramis mumbled drowsily.

“Yes Master,” Porthos said softly, kissing his hair again.

With difficulty, Aramis turned himself over in Porthos' arms and nuzzled back against him. Porthos grumbled playfully when Aramis purposefully nestled his buttocks against Porthos' still hard cock. A determined wiggle from the slender body in his arms made him laugh and he tightened his embrace.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that, ladies and gents, is how you bottom from the top.
> 
> Being on the bottom doesn't mean you're submitting ;)


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans to continue the investigation in Lyons are made now they're reunited.

 

Porthos and Aramis knocked before entering Athos and d'Artagnan's bedroom. They hadn't bothered to don their doublets since they were only next door. Porthos was slightly surprised to see Athos sat up in bed with the remnants of a breakfast tray beside him. He'd assumed they'd simply missed each other at breakfast downstairs.

“You alright?” he asked, remembering Aramis' comment the previous night.

“I am,” Athos replied, nodding at each of them in turn.

D'Artagnan scoffed from the chair he'd pulled to Athos' side.

“Athos suffered a rather deep wound on the back of his left thigh. I told him to take it easy and it appears he finally is,” Aramis summarised.

“Oh. OK,” Porthos said shrugging. He touched Aramis' waist for a moment and, receiving a nod, moved away to get chairs for them both. “Bad?” he added.

“No,” Athos answered.

“Bad enough. Took some stitching. That was his blood on my shirt,” Aramis countered.

Athos huffed out an exasperated breath and glared slightly at Aramis.

“That was a lot of blood,” Porthos commented, setting the two chairs opposite d'Artagnan's.

“Yes. I'm fine now, though. Nothing a day of rest won't fix,” Athos said irritably. “How is your side?” he asked Aramis.

“I'm fine. I think a couple of the ribs are broken but they seem to be all in line so I'll heal perfectly well. I do believe they might be tender for several weeks. The bruising has gone down already,” he answered, pressing his fingers against the site through his shirt..

“So what happened?” asked d'Artagnan impatiently.

  
  


  
  


The midday sun was overhead but the rain was still beating steadily against the inn by the time they had finished recounting their journeys to one another. Athos and Aramis' was, by far, the most interesting.

While Porthos and d'Artagnan had stayed busy, most of the farms they had visited had simply given them the same tale as the men who had attacked Truyart's house that night. It had been very upsetting, however. D'Artagnan especially had struggled telling these women that their husbands wouldn't be returning to the farm because of their hands.

He was quite honest in his telling to the others, knowing they understood. Porthos had been there and had reassured him that he felt bad for these women too but guilt was of no use. It still felt better to share it with the others, knowing they also felt that way. Athos' hand had strayed from his lap to brush his fingers against d'Artagnan's shoulders and it had calmed him somewhat.

When it came time for Aramis and Athos' report, Aramis had sunk back in his chair and allowed Athos to take them through it.

Upon Colette's safe return, the Marquis had tried to arrest them for kidnapping her until Athos had shouted him down and pointed out kidnappers don't normally return their hostages without demand.

Athos sniffed slightly in disgust when he recounted the Marquis' almost instant breakdown when he realised they were trying to help.

“Cried like a baby,” Aramis put in.

“Indeed. His relief was quite something. I believe he was at wit's end. It does not excuse his actions but I am resolved that he was driven to them by the work of others,” Athos said firmly.

“Got names?” Porthos asked.

“No. We have places, though. Three rather well to do salons here in Lyons that he was caught out in on several occasions,” Athos answered.

“The injuries?” d'Artagnan asked.

Aramis told him the same thing he'd told Porthos the night before, only with more detail. The temperature in the room dropped as Aramis and Athos both recalled the treatment the women had been subjected to. D'Artagnan visibly blanched but quickly recovered.

“Are they all dead?” he hissed.

“The worst of them, yes. Those that aren't I have been assured will be put on trial. I have requested to be informed of the outcomes of the trials and if they are not to my satisfaction, I will return,” Athos said, a steely note to his voice.

“The ones who hurt you two?” he asked, looking between them.

“Dead,” confirmed Aramis.

“Good,” d'Artagnan said viciously.

“Hey now,” chided Porthos gently. “We're all pleased they've come back safely and yeah, we're pissed that they got hurt. We're soldiers though, eh? We do things with honour.”

D'Artagnan took a breath and nodded.

“Did he get this upset when I was hurt?” Porthos teased, glancing at Aramis.

“Perhaps he doesn't love you as much as us,” Aramis shrugged, grinning when d'Artagnan scowled.

“I wasn't-” he began.

“We know,” Aramis said gently, holding his hand up and cutting d'Artagnan off. “It's different when you aren't by your brother's side. We all feel that. Learn to accept it, though.”

D'Artagnan took another breath and glanced round at Athos whose fingers were once again brushing his shoulder.

“If you'd...” he trailed off, unsure how to finish that sentence with their friends present. He'd been so focussed on taking care of Athos last night he hadn't really thought about the worst case scenario.

“Shh. Don't dwell,” Athos said quietly.

D'Artagnan nodded and fell quiet.

“So what do we do? Stake out those salons?” Porthos asked.

“I'm not... certain,” Athos said slowly. “I honestly believe Aramis and I should rest for today. I'm afraid I rode us quite hard to get here and it was quite taxing, even if we weren't injured.”

“But?” prompted Porthos.

“But if they, like they did at Dijon, know Musketeers are in town looking for them, they may close up shop and move on before we ever get a chance to see them in action,” Athos mused.

“Looks like it's you and I again then,” d'Artagnan said brightly, nodding at Porthos.

“No,” chorused Athos and Aramis.

“Why not?” d'Artagnan asked calmly. “What is your objection to Porthos and I attending one of these salons to simply see if there is, indeed, rather high stakes gambling occurring.”

There was a frosty silence as Athos considered his infuriating logic.

“The three of us shall go,” Aramis said quietly.

Athos looked closely at him and Porthos frowned seeing Athos consider it.

“Show him,” Porthos grunted.

“I do not need to. I am capable of making my own decisions, as you well know,” Aramis snapped.

“Show him, Aramis,” Porthos repeated, looking steadily at Aramis.

“Let me see,” Athos said quietly.

“It is fine, my friend,” Aramis said lightly.

“I will make that assessment upon seeing the injury,” Athos said, his eyes narrowed.

Aramis sighed in irritation and stood, staring daggers at Porthos. He tugged his shirt out of his breeches and lifted it up an inch or so. The dark purple could be seen and Athos tilted his head.

Porthos felt a frisson of irritation himself when Athos glanced at d'Artagnan. Clearly he was tempted to sacrifice Aramis' much needed rest if it meant protecting d'Artagnan.

“Sire,” he said softly, a pleading note in his voice.

All the fight seemed to go out of Aramis. He pulled his braces down on that side and tugged his shirt up to reveal the full extent of the damage. There was faint bruising right up below the line of Aramis' pectoral and it gradually deepened in colour moving down his body until it began to fade in colour as it disappeared below the waist of his breeches. Having seen it already, Porthos watched the other two for their reaction. As expected d'Artagnan hissed at the sight and Athos' face softened.

“You won't be going,” Athos said quietly.

“I can walk and talk fine,” Aramis protested, tucking his shirt back in.

“Take a deep breath,” Athos said, tilting his head.

Aramis' answering scowl as he dropped back into the chair was enough confirmation. He couldn't go out like that. If it turned at all dangerous he wouldn't be able to defend himself.

Porthos lay a hand on Aramis' knee and squeezed. Aramis laced his fingers with Porthos' and smiled apologetically.

“So... Looks like it's you and I again then,” d'Artagnan repeated as if this interlude hadn't happened.

  
  


  
  


  
  


“No fighting. No questioning. No temper. No sarcasm. No insults,” Athos lectured.

They had eaten in the common room together, Athos insisting he be allowed out of bed. D'Artagnan and Porthos were just about to leave. Their intention was to simply check these salons and see who they let in, what was going on. It was going to be hard to tell if they were part of this ring or simply innocent card players.

Athos was insisting, however, Porthos and d'Artagnan made no effort to question them. He simply wanted to see what was happening and if any of them shut down tomorrow after a visit from King's Musketeers.

“Yes. Also no running with shears,, no jumping in puddles and no talking to strangers,” d'Artagnan teased.

“I mean it,” Athos said, his tone softening. “Look after yourself.”

D'Artagnan reached over and clasped his hand for a moment before standing and leaving with Porthos.

“They'll be fine,” Aramis said, watching them go.

Athos sighed and turned back to his friend who smiled at him but it didn't reach his eyes.

 

 

 

 

It was past midnight when d'Artagnan finally returned to the inn. A smile came to Athos' face recognising the Gascon in the doorway but slid off his face instantly seeing his dishevelled and distressed state.

“Porthos?” Aramis asked as d'Artagnan reached them, panting as if he'd run a mile.

“Taken,” he gasped, clutching his stomach.

Athos noticed a trickle of blood from beneath d'Artagnan's eye and a bruise beginning to form. He'd clearly been hit in the face with something.

“By who? Where is he?” Aramis asked, standing and picking his pistol up from its place on the bench beside him.

“Don't know,” d'Artagnan gasped, still winded.

Athos glanced around the still busy inn and took him by the arm, propelling him in front as they walked quickly up the stairs to their room.

“What happened?” he demanded as soon as the door was closed. Aramis immediately began pacing the room, pistol still in hand.

“It was the second place. The first place let us in because Musketeers. Second place opened the door as we got there, bowed us in. We got halfway down the corridor and we were attacked. Porthos took one out but I.. someone hit me with something and I blacked out. Woke up and we were being carried to a cart in an alley. Bound hands, ankles. As the carriage moved, Porthos kicked me in the stomach and I fell off the back. Said I wasn't a Musketeer. Just a friend. They didn't come back for me. I found a bit of glass in the alley for the rope and ran here,” d'Artagnan said.

Athos shared a looked with Aramis who had gone white as a sheet.

“Where were they taking him?” Athos demanded.

“Didn't hear. Was out cold,” d'Artagnan said miserably.

Athos unlaced the Gascon's jacket and pulled his shirt up. When Athos' fingers touched his stomach, d'Artagnan hissed in pain. If Porthos had kicked him with both feet, hard enough to knock him off the carriage, his ribs were likely also broken.

“You still have your weapons,” Aramis observed, his voice strained. “Does Porthos?”

“Don't know,” d'Artagnan said, hissing again as he relaced his jacket.

“Come on,” Athos said, picking up his hat.

 

 


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The three men investigate Porthos' disappearance.

The three of them marched quickly to the salon to find it closed. Door locked, candles out. Without pausing, Aramis took a single step back, shot the lock in and the three of them strode in, pistols drawn. The building was silent but the smell of recently doused candles and torches was still in the air.

“Here,” d'Artagnan said quietly after only a few feet.

Athos crouched and searched the ground. He felt a small patch of blood and felt a twist of fury that it might be his brother's.

They continued down the hallway and found a small kitchen in a state of disarray. There was a wooden table that had been pushed haphazardly towards the fireplace with three knocked over chairs beside it. If Porthos didn't want to go somewhere, he usually put up a hell of a fight.

The back door was locked as well but Aramis, who was still reloading his pistol simply raised his leg and gave the lock a violent kick, groaning in pain at the exertion but the door did, indeed, give way under Aramis' wrath.

"Aramis," said Athos, the warning clear. Aramis glared at him and strode through the door without a word.

Searching the alley they found the discarded rope used to bind d'Artagnan and at his gesture, began their search in the opposite direction. Reaching a junction where the alley moved into a wider street Aramis hissed in anger. They didn't know this city well enough to guess where they were taking him or even which direction took them to the gates.

D'Artagnan and Athos stood together talking in low voices, debating their best course of action. Loading him on to a cart implied he was going to be transported a longer way than carrying was possible. That would imply they're leaving the city. Athos glanced over his shoulder to Aramis who pacing furiously, his face like thunder.

Suddenly he seemed to spot something familiar under the light of a doorway candle a few feet from the junction. He hurried over to it and, ignoring the pain in his side, crouched to look at it. He felt Athos and d'Artagnan join him and held it out for their inspection.

Porthos' bandanna.

They moved carefully down the street, pistols drawn. Each of the alleys they passed wouldn't fit a carriage down them so they continued on for what felt like hours but was closer to ten minutes.

They reached the gates of the city, which were hanging open, severely damaged. Wood splinters littered the ground. The sharp tangy scent of blood met Aramis' nostrils and he felt another spike of anger at Porthos being taken. D'Artagnan made a soft noise and he followed. The gatekeeper was slumped on the floor of the guardhouse, shot and clearly dumped hastily inside. They were either in the right place or this was a remarkable coincidence. Athos took the torch from the wall of the guardhouse and they moved through the gates.

Thanks to the rain all morning, they were able to locate the carriage's track easily and Aramis' heart gave a leap of hope. Athos, however, stopped.

“We need horses,” he said.

“There's one by the guardhouse,” d'Artagnan said.

“I'll go,” Aramis said at once.

“You're injured. Let me go. I'm the one who let him be taken,” d'Artagnan protested.

Aramis' hand shot out and pressed against the spot Porthos had kicked him. D'Artagnan doubled over in pain, gripping Aramis' arm as he struggled for breath.

“Give me all your pistols and I will go. I am the least injured and with your firearms I should be fine. I do not intend to confront them. I want to find him and make sure he is OK. That's all,” Aramis said defiantly.

Athos hated the idea but if they lost these tracks overnight they had no way of finding him and Aramis was the least injured of them all. The thought of only being able to send their least hurt man did not comfort him.

“You do not engage. Just find them,” Athos said sternly.

Aramis nodded and quickly disappeared to retrieve the horse. Much to their relief, the mount seemed a very well conditioned animal and, taking his brother's offered pistols, Aramis swung into the saddle, groaning in pain as he did so. He clipped their pistols onto various pieces of tack, cursing the horse's lack of a holster.

Athos handed him the torch but held it still when Aramis reached out to take it.

"Just find them. No heroics," he said quietly.

"They have Porthos," Aramis said angrily.

"Still," Athos replied meaningfully. He fixed Aramis with his piercing stare and when Aramis finally gave a stiff nod, he released his grip on the torch.

Taking it from Athos, Aramis spurred his horse and began to follow the trail, bent low over the horse to cast the light upon the ground.

Athos sighed in resignation and watched him go. He turned back and they walked swiftly back to the salon. Drawing his dagger, Athos led them inside. They searched the place from top to bottom. This was definitely a gambling location given the amount of cards they found and it had been left in a hurry. D'Artagnan found a small locked chest they decided to take with them. Given its weight it contained mostly papers.

There was a noise in the hall and d'Artagnan rushed to find the person who made it. They found a short nobleman crouched on the salon floor searching through the debris of the quick getaway. He whimpered at the sight of d'Artagnan in the doorway.

“You!” he squeaked.

Athos joined him, dagger still in hand.

“Where did they take the Musketeer?” Athos hissed dangerously.

“I don't know!” he cried. “I'm just here looking for my promissory note. I put it down when I didn't have enough coin but I can't afford it.”

Athos gripped the man by the arm and hauled him to his feet.

"Where is he?" d'Artagnan hissed dangerously. The man flinched and Athos pulled him roughly to the kitchen. Righting a chair, he threw the man into it.

“Talk.”

 


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porthos spends time in captivity.

Porthos closed his eyes and breathed hard, trying to fight down the waves of nausea the pain was causing. He was trying to ignore it and focus on where he was. He was underground somewhere but it was pitch black. Not a sliver of light anywhere. No windows and a well fitting door made the dark feel thick and heavy.

He hadn't been able to work out where they'd gone but it had felt like less than ten minutes once they were outside the city. He'd seen the gates go by and begun counting. The terrain had been very rough so he was pretty sure they'd cut across country and had definitely passed through some thick trees.

They seem to be in a disused farmhouse of some kind. He'd been thrown into the cellar, literally dropped down a flight of steps. He'd landed heavily on his knees and was fairly certain one of his kneecaps was broken in the impact. Since then he'd manoeuvred himself to the wall and was sat up against it.

It was taking all his willpower not to pass out from the pain in his knees. He resigned himself to assessing the injuries and he could already feel them both swelling but his left was definitely worse and that's the one he felt was probably broken. He could feel them both seeping blood into his braies and they were still throbbing sharply from the move to the wall. There was no way he could fight out or even overpower them. His wrists and ankles were still tied together and he was unable to bear weight on either leg.

Forcing his mind away from his own injuries, he tried hard to concentrate on his captors. They weren't highly trained men, that much clear. He remembered smugly that he had managed to shoot one of them before they'd descended on them in the salon. He felt white hot anger when he remembered the noise of the walking cane hitting d'Artagnan in the face. It had been only through sheer numbers that they had overwhelmed Porthos. They weren't properly armed and they hadn't gone back for d'Artagnan when Porthos had got him off the cart. Any remotely trained solider would never let someone go free like that.

He stretched his jaw, feeling the growing bruise from where he'd been punched for removing d'Artagnan. Trained or not, they punched hard enough. At least they hadn't managed to knock him out.

He dropped his head back against the wall, hoping against hope his brothers had found his bandanna. In the scuffle that had ensued after d'Artagnan's departure he'd managed to drop it over the side. Hopefully that breadcrumb would be enough to get them to him.

Even if they did, though. They were a wreck. Athos wouldn't be able to wield a sword correctly without being able to shift his weight, Aramis could barely take a breath and certainly wasn't going to be able to move and d'Artagnan... Porthos just had to hope he hadn't done too much damage. He was only out cold from the blow to the face for a minute or two but Porthos had needed to kick him quite hard and with his ankles together, both his booted feet had landed on his chest. He'd also hit the ground quite hard.

Porthos sighed. It was better than them both being stuck here. One of them needed to raise the alarm and three injured Musketeers coming was better than two that could barely stand up.

He tried to bring his ankles up to begin removing the rope but he nearly passed out as a wave of pain rushed through him when he attempted to move his knees. Panting, he dropped his head back against the wall and resumed trying to listen. If he couldn't do anything to physically help himself, he needed to learn more about where he was and who had him.

It wasn't a heavy door but it fit the frame well so he was only able to hear snatches of conversation outside. They all knew each other. There wasn't any of the quiet formality you got from soldiers who had been assigned together for the first time. They were waiting for someone. They had to keep the Musketeers alive until 'she' got there, whoever she was.

Porthos felt the first tendrils of fear at that comment. He wasn't there as a hostage, then. They were only keeping him alive until then, not caring for him as a prisoner. In the same moment he felt smug that they had been expected to obtain more than just him.

So far he'd made out six different voices and then something got his attention. It was a fleeting called comment but he was certain he'd heard the name Colette. Another wave of fury hit him. After all they'd done for her? Protecting her after they'd encouraged people to attack the house? Was this the Marquis' doing after all? Had Aramis and Athos misread him?

The voices had stopped and after a while Porthos found himself starting to panic. The pain in his knees was constant and throbbing and the darkness felt heavy around him. What if they hadn't found Porthos' clue? What if d'Artagnan hadn't found them? They hadn't travelled that far from the city and he'd been here for what felt like hours. A small part of his mind was screaming at him that it hadn't been too long but he was growing less and less calm.

The darkness was absolute. Whatever this cellar used to store was protected well. There wasn't a single bit of light any where. Porthos kept waiting for his eyes to adjust enough to see a little but they never did. Even in the darkest of places, eyes needed some light to see by, even just the ember of a burned out fire. It was oppressive and he felt as if he was choking in it. He realised with a flash of panic he couldn't even tell how far he'd come from the stairs and was unable to even make out the wall opposite him.

He forced himself to think of all the times Aramis had blindfolded him. He always felt frightened but managed to keep himself calm. But that was because Aramis was always there. Aramis would look after him. Not here. Here, he was alone. Would Aramis find him this time? Would Aramis find him **in** time?

Porthos concentrated hard on simply counting his breaths to keep the panic away. Gradually he recognised his fearful panting was making him thirst and his captors seemed to have no intention on checking on him. He realised with a start he might actually die down here, in the dark. They were making no effort to check on him. He was utterly alone in this black pit. He resumed counting his breaths but was trying hard to keep his mouth closed. The constant agony in his knee was making it very difficult and he gave up.

He lost himself. He was drifting in a black fog, overcome with pain and loneliness. Images of Aramis were before his eyes. Athos, d'Artagnan, the Captain, Constance, Flea. All the people who mattered to him. His mother's face floated before him and he felt tears spring to his eyes. Why had she left him here? Alone and afraid. He felt tears on his cheeks and as her face faded he tried to lean forwards to reach her the pain held him fast.

Aramis. He needed Aramis. The bright spot in his life. Why wasn't he here? Why wasn't his sun breaking the dark for him?

Suddenly there was a small scuffling noise at the end of the cellar. Pre dawn light filtered in from somewhere. Squinting he realised there was a hatch for grain and someone dropped through it, the light being blotted out behind him. He wanted to cry out, to beg for the light back. He bit his lip at the pain in his knees as he tensed, ready to defend himself. Then he heard the most glorious sound in the world.

“Porthos?” came a whisper.

“Here,” he croaked, desperately. Aramis had found him. Aramis had come.

The rustle of Aramis moving came closer and Porthos sighed as the marksman's hands immediately went to his face, brushing across his cheek.

“Dawn?” asked Porthos, his voice cracking from dehydration and fatigue.

“Nearly. You've been here five hours,” Aramis answered in a whisper. Porthos could hear the fear in it and knew it was because his own voice sounded so broken.

“Colette is coming,” Porthos murmured, unable to stop himself leaning into Aramis while his long, nimble fingers quickly examined his scalp and face for damage. He felt a stab of pain when Aramis' fingers pressed against the bruise on his jaw but it seemed he couldn't find the energy to react. The way Aramis' fingers paused, though, made Porthos dimly aware there might be a lump.

“Injuries?” Aramis asked, still whispering.

“Only one. Think my right knee is broken. They're both bad but the right one is **bad** bad. Landed wrong when they threw me down here,” Porthos said miserably.

“They threw you?” Aramis hissed furiously.

The anger in his voice seemed to warm Porthos slightly and he sat up a little straighter. Aramis was here. He'd get out of this. He needed to focus.

“My ankles, my wrists,” Porthos said, his voice a little stronger.

Aramis groped around in the dark for Porthos' wrists and carefully cut them apart with his dagger. He had to use Porthos' legs as a guide to find his ankles and Porthos yelped as he skimmed across his injured knees. Quickly removing the rope there too, Porthos heard him sheath his dagger.

“Are you armed?” he asked.

“They took my weapons but left me my belts. I still have ammunition and powder,” Porthos replied.

He felt Aramis press a pistol into his hand and was surprised when another one joined it. Feeling the shape of the metalwork in the dark he recognised one as Athos' and assumed the other was d'Artagnan's.

“You're on your own?” he said, in surprise.

“Not any more,” Aramis whispered firmly, rising to his feet. “Can you walk?”

Porthos pushed himself up the wall, growling the entire time at the pain flaring in his protesting joints. In addition to the bone being potentially broken, he'd also been sat on a cold floor for hours. He took a tentative step forwards and he bit down on the collar of his doublet to stop the cry of pain as his knee gave way beneath him.

Aramis winced and quickly moved to support most of his weight.

“Come on, Porthos. I've got you,” he urged. “Breathe through it. Just like you do with me. Come on. Don't fight it.”

Porthos shook his head.

“Can't. Rely on you too much. Too dangerous here,” he protested.

It was true. In those time Aramis was hurting him, if Porthos let himself get carried away by the pain he became utterly reliant on him. They couldn't afford that now.

“Just a bit, Porthos. Come on. Just enough to get you moving. I'm not asking,” he said, his voice growing stern.

Porthos nodded reluctantly, understanding. He forced himself to breathe more slowly, accepting the waves of pain shooting up his leg. He began to breathe with it, exhaling each time it throbbed. Aramis' hands were tight on his forearms and he drew strength from him, gradually lowering his foot to the floor, even if he couldn't yet stand straight.

“Good. Good,” murmured Aramis. “Lets move.”

Porthos couldn't stop the dramatic limp, still unable to put his full weight on the injured joint but he had Aramis helping and he was at least semi mobile now.

He leaned against the wall as Aramis scrambled up the two steps to listen at the hatch. Clearly having heard nothing to worry him, he pushed open one side hard enough to flip it open and crouched back in the darkness waiting for any reaction from above.

He glanced back at Porthos and he felt furious all over again. There was a bruise on his jaw that was spreading out from beneath his beard already, his face was pale. His lips were cracked and dry so they hadn't provided water. He was leaning so heavily on the wall Aramis could only imagine how much pain he was in.

The way he leaned towards the light but didn't step towards it was heart breaking. He looked like a beaten puppy that was offered the first touch of affection but feared what would happen if he dared to reach for it.

“OK,” he whispered, shaking himself. “I've moved my horse directly opposite this hatch under cover of trees. It's only about two hundred yards but it's open ground. I'll need you to move as quickly as possible but I know it's going to hurt. I will have your back.”

“Two hundred yards?” Porthos asked, paling even more.

“It's that or two of us fight our way through the at least nine men I counted with four shots, one sword, one dagger and only three legs,” Aramis said sharply.

Porthos nodded and closed his eyes to take several more deep breaths. After a few seconds he opened them and nodded to Aramis.

The marksman pulled himself up out of the hatch, hissing as it drew a sharp pain up through his injured side. He gritted his teeth against the pain and rolled onto his stomach, holding his hands out. Porthos handed him the two pistols he was carrying and pulled himself up. He couldn't stop the growl of pain as he rested his better of the two injured knees on the side but he quickly shifted onto his back.

Aramis gave him ten seconds to catch his breath while he closed the door behind them and then pulled him to his feet. He pointed dead ahead of them and Porthos steeled himself and began to move.

Every step was absolute agony. Without Aramis to lean on he was forced to place his whole weight on his bad leg, causing him to limp so badly he nearly fell. He could feel Aramis at his back, feel the strength and the sunlight he provided and he forced himself to keep moving.

Keeping close behind Porthos, Aramis had his arquebus raised and was sweeping his sharp eyes back and forth across the house. He'd taken longer than anticipated getting Porthos out of the cellar, having not expected to find him so injured, and dawn was breaking. He'd ascertained they weren't highly trained men when he'd scouted the house but he grew more concerned as the daylight increased. He had to hope their inexperience meant that the excitement of kidnapping a Musketeer would have kept them up late and they were all sleeping it off now.

Behind him, Porthos was slowing. There was a deep growling noise building in his chest and Aramis glanced over his shoulder at the line of trees.

“Come on, Porthos. Halfway. You can do this,” he murmured.

Porthos nodded, unable to answer but glad to know he'd made it halfway already. The pain was making it hard to see and it was all he could do to keep putting one foot in front of the other. The better of the two knees was beginning to stab now so every step was sending white hot lances of pain up into his body.

Another tense few minutes passed and Aramis grew more and more worried as Porthos continued to slow down. He could hear without looking that he'd clenched his teeth against the pain and was growling with each step. Aramis was no longer able to tell the difference between when Porthos stepped with his bad leg and his very bad leg as both were causing the same pained noises. Glancing over his shoulder again he saw the trees were less than ten yards away.

“Porthos. Nearly there. Come on. You're so close,” Aramis urged.

His eyes caught movement at the corner of the house and his heart sank as a dog came running around the corner. Even though he'd shut the hatch, a dog would pick up on their scent. If that dog's master followed, they were exposed.

Porthos was still moving steadily towards the tree, limping pitifully. He was dimly aware of Aramis pushing slightly at his back so he knew something was wrong but he just didn't have the spare concentration to investigate.

“Down,” Aramis hissed and pulled Porthos down, rotating him so it was his back and buttocks that hit the floor.

Porthos groaned in agony at the movement but Aramis' hand had clamped down on his mouth the second he'd pulled him to the ground. He tried to find Aramis' eyes with his but he was looking back at the house.

Aramis was breathing heavily, his hand on Porthos' mouth trying to ignore the shooting pains across his ribs. The dog had been recalled to its master and gone out of view but a second man had appeared at the opposite corner. Aramis flicked his eyes up to the trees. They were less than three paces from them and the shelter they'd provide. They could crawl but Porthos couldn't make it there on his front.

“Porthos,” he whispered urgently. “I need you to push yourself backwards into the trees, keeping as low as possible. Understand?”

Porthos nodded beneath Aramis' hand and immediately complied. Aramis watched him carefully and while his face was still contorted in pain, at least he was moving. He followed Porthos on his belly, crawling beside him. With all four limbs at his disposal, he quickly overtook him and made it into the trees.

As Porthos broke into the line of cover, Aramis' heart was in his mouth. He quickly scrambled to his feet and cast a glance back at the man patrolling. He wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to them and was more interested in whatever was in his hands. Based on the movements Aramis guessed it was a pack of cards. He leaned down and grabbed Porthos beneath the arms and heaved him the rest of the way into the dark trees.

The dawn light hadn't yet penetrated the trees, leaving it suddenly dark. He sat down heavily beside Porthos who was panting and clutched his own side. His ribs had been throbbing since pulling himself up and out of the cellar but the crawling and then pulling Porthos into the trees had been torture. He lay a hand on Porthos' shoulder and squeezed while they both caught their breath.

“Excellent work, Porthos. Proud of you,” Aramis murmured.

“Sire,” Porthos hissed through gritted teeth.

Aramis squeezed his shoulder again. He never called Aramis that when on missions. Certainly not one this dangerous. He was clearly struggling.

“I've got you,” he murmured.

He glanced around them. They couldn't stay like this forever. They had to move and soon. If Porthos was right and Colette was on her way, they had to assume the Marquis was with her. He felt a cold fury coiling in his stomach at the thought of that wretch lying to them. He hadn't contemplated the thought of them being set up at the salon until now. He'd been too focussed on scouting the house out. The idea that Bauffremont had organised the pain Porthos was now in made his blood boil.

Glancing down at his brother, he could see colour returning to his cheeks and his breathing had slowed.

“We have to go,” he whispered.

“Are you OK?” Porthos asked, pulling himself to a sitting position.

“Very winded. Lot of pain. Need to get away from here,” Aramis answered honestly. This was no time for either of them to conceal the extent of their injuries. “Can you ride?”

“For how long?”

“Thirty minutes?”

“I don't know,” Porthos answered, equally honest.

It wasn't the position of riding so much. Once his knees were in position they would be fine. It was the gripping the horse that worried him. The pressure and control needed was more than he thought he could bear.

“I'll do the riding. You just sit there,” Aramis said.

Porthos frowned. He knew with injuries as severe and freshly aggravated as Aramis', his core strength was seriously compromised as well. He did, however, nod his agreement, well aware how precarious their position was. They were outnumbered, under equipped and both injured.

Aramis walked away but Porthos could still hear him moving. He returned with a horse in tow and helped Porthos stand, supporting most of his weight.

“I suggest I sit normally and you side sideways in front of me,” Aramis said, frowning at the look of agony on Porthos' face.

Porthos limped forwards and bit his lip. He looked at Aramis and they both drew a breath. This was going to hurt. A lot. Taking the leather of his doublet into his teeth again, Porthos growled loudly as he raised his better leg to find the stirrup. Aramis felt his stomach churn at how much pain he was about to put Porthos through but he steeled himself and helped him up.

There was an almighty roar of pain, only half of which the leather was able to muffle and they'd only managed to get Porthos onto his stomach across the horse's back. Aramis shook his head and, swallowing down his own pain, quickly mounted and settled behind Porthos' wheezing form.

“Come on. Turn over,” Aramis said quietly.

After a difficult bit of manoeuvring, during which the horse began to grow impatient, they managed to get Porthos turned over and sat up. It was only once he'd stopped moving that he released the leather in his mouth. Aramis took up the reins around him and used the arm behind his back to hold him steady.

It was a testament to how much pain Porthos was in that he didn't argue at sitting sideways in Aramis' lap. He was still lost in the pain but Aramis couldn't do anything here. He moved them off, keeping at a gentle trot.

  
  


  
  


The tracks had just about cleared during the dry night but Aramis' eyes were sharp enough to make them out and after a few minutes could make out the city himself.

Keeping the horse steady, Aramis arrived at the gate about twenty minutes later. Porthos had started leaning more heavily against him and he was almost wheezing in pain. Finding guards swarming around the broken gates, Aramis halted.

“You there! You did this!” one shouted angrily, waving his hand at the guardhouse. “That's the horse for the gatekeeper!”

“I am Aramis of the King's Musketeers. I came to these gates and found them broken and the keeper slain. I had great need of a horse and found this excellent animal. I am here now, returning it to you,” Aramis said formally, his hand pressed to his chest. He was aware of Porthos who was slipping in and out of consciousness in his arms. “I need, however, to return my injured companion to safety before I do so.”

“Another one?” asked a second guard.

“Never just one. Bloody Musketeers travel in packs,” the first muttered.

“You have seen my friends? I assume they reported this to you?”

“They did, sir,” piped up a young man who was busying himself with gathering the splinter of wood. “They said to tell you they were waiting at the second place. They said you would know what that means sir.”

“I thank you. I will return with this fine animal shortly,” Aramis said, bowing as best he could with Porthos in his lap.

The streets looked different in the daylight and he couldn't be sure which alley they'd come up the night before until he heard his name. Turning, he went back to the mouth of the previous alley and d'Artagnan was jogging towards them.

“Porthos!” he gasped, taking in the nearly unconscious Musketeer.

"He's fine. He's fine,” Aramis reassured him. “Bumped and bruised but he needs water. Quickly.”

D'Artagnan sprinted to the back door of the salon and by the time Aramis had reached it, Porthos was stirring again. Athos came out and with d'Artagnan's help, they lifted Porthos down from behind.

“Mind his legs!” Aramis cried at the last second, realising they didn't know what was injured.

It was too late. As Porthos was drawn backwards off the horse, his boots trailed over the animal and hit the floor. The second his heels landed, Porthos roared with pain and twisted violently in their grasp. They lowered him to the floor and looked up at Aramis.

“His knees. They threw him down some stairs and he landed on his knees,” Aramis explained, wincing at the pained noise being drawn from between Porthos' teeth.

Athos nodded and gestured for d'Artagnan to lift his shoulders. Aramis' courage failed and he turned the horse away from them as Athos bent to pick his legs up. He closed his eyes as he heard his lover's bellow of pain echo down the alley behind him.

 


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Investigations into the premises continue and Porthos has a chance to recover somewhat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short chapter. Sorry. I'm not feeling great and work has been somewhat overwhelming this week.

They were all utterly exhausted, having been up all night, but they continued on with their investigations. When Aramis had returned the horse, he'd struck up a conversation with the guards and they had helped transport Porthos back to the inn with minimal discomfort.

While Porthos slept, the other three spent the day with the guards questioning everyone who frequented that salon, a list given by the somewhat petrified nobleman Athos and d'Artagnan had discovered.

Aramis was having a hard time keeping his temper in check and by mid afternoon he had grown so tired, having been up for a day and a half, his irritability was reaching new heights. Every time one of the nobles sneered at the lowly Musketeer questioning him, he felt a desire to cold cock them with his pistol.

Athos' patience, however, was phenomenal. He took every sneer, every slight, every note of derision and met it admirably. There were some things only the nobles how to do and disarming someone with a few well chosen words was one of Athos' specialities.

He managed to get five of the eight men named to confess to some sort of crime and they were duly arrested by the Lyons guards. It appeared the gatekeeper slain was a much loved and well respected member of their regiment and they were more than happy to find any excuse to mete out justice.

The three that resisted were also thrown in prison on conspiracy to kidnap since they didn't report Porthos being taken. Athos intended to see them in the morning.

With the guards in tow, he raided the first salon shortly after four in the afternoon. Aramis and d'Artagnan had taken some guards to the third location on Bauffremont's list, the one Porthos and d'Artagnan had never made it to.

Athos found a locked chest similar to the one d'Artagnan and he had found when Porthos was taken. They hadn't had a chance to open that one yet so Athos took this opportunity to open this one. Flicking through the papers inside, Athos sucked in a relieved breath.

Flicking through the papers he was joined by the guard Captain, Colier.

“You look happy,” Colier remarked.

Athos silently handed him some of the papers and Colier whistled.

“This is everyone who has credit or debt there,” he said quietly. He glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “There's a lot of people in here. Names I know. Names of some pretty important families.”

“You don't think they will see justice?” Athos asked softly.

“No,” Captain Colier replied thoughtfully. He flicked through the papers in his hands. “Going by the amount of debt they're all in, though, I think they'll all be pleased to just write the whole thing off.”

“Indeed,” murmured Athos. He got carefully to his feet and glanced around the room. Nothing else of interest was here so Athos collected the chest and returned to the inn.

He checked on Porthos on his way and found him sitting up in bed reading through the contents of the first chest.

“Matching pair, eh?” he asked, seeing Athos in the doorway holding his.

“Indeed. This one I have taken from the first salon you visited. That was taken from the second. Aramis and d'Artagnan are searching the third as we speak,” Athos said, walking over. He allowed himself a slight limp as he walked given it was only his friend that could see.

“Yeah. Aramis left me a note while I was sleeping. You three must be exhausted,” Porthos mused, waving vaguely at a piece of parchment on the table beside the bed.

Athos watched Porthos quietly for a few minutes. His lips looked sore and Athos recalled how cracked they were that morning when he was rescued. He looked exhausted and none of the normal sparkling light was in his eyes. They were dull, somehow. There was an awful moment when Athos reached for the parchment he'd waved at and Porthos had flinched.

However, he was set up with the chest to his side and he certainly looked at though he'd slept. The lock was hanging off the chest in tatters. Porthos had clearly snapped it with his bare hands. Reading the note Aramis had left it appeared he'd encouraged Porthos to investigate but only if he wasn't tired so he had to assume Aramis had left the chest on the bed. Just remembering the roar of pain this morning when Porthos' legs had been dropped to the floor still made the hair on Athos' arms stand up. The sheet was over Porthos' legs so he was unable to see the damage but the bruise on his jaw was a deep purple and visible even through the natural unruly bushiness of his beard. Athos tactfully ignored the wet spots where the ink had run. Clearly Porthos had shed tears. Replacing the parchment on the beside table, Athos recognised the sleeping draught Aramis often carried with them. That explained Porthos looking so well rested.

“Found anything useful?” Athos asked, seeing Porthos frown.

“Oh I think so,” Porthos replied darkly smirking at a small book he'd just begun to read.

Athos raised an eyebrow but was stopped from asking when the door opened and Aramis and d'Artagnan stepped through. He looked expectantly at d'Artagnan while Aramis crossed to the bed in three long strides and kissed Porthos full on the mouth. There was a small surprised noise from Porthos that made Athos sad to hear.

Aramis' kiss was a simple, open and honest thing. It was firm but gentle and unconsciously beautiful. Aramis felt Porthos resist for a moment but didn't give him a chance to pull away. His hands cradled Porthos' face, long fingers skimming over the bruise on his jaw, to settle just behind his ears.

Even without his normal aggression, Porthos could feel Aramis' message. He was here, they were here. He was safe. Aramis had him and was not about to let Porthos forget it. He could feel warmth seeping into his body with his lover's return and he found the fear he'd been living with all afternoon since he woke up drifting away.

D'Artagnan watched for a moment before clearing his throat uncomfortably and turning to Athos.

“Found nothing. Whole place had been cleared. Not even a single card. Knew we were coming,” d'Artagnan reported.

Moving the chest slightly, Aramis settled himself cross legged beside Porthos and took the small book he was holding.

“I found this chest at the first salon,” Athos began but stopped at Aramis' reaction to what he was reading. “Aramis?” he asked.

“Oh **my** ,” he breathed and handed it over to Athos. D'Artagnan moved behind him to read it.

It was a full membership list of something called La Bauge de Diamants with every person's name on it, including Bauffremont. It also held details of the salon, its times of operation and right at the top it held the name of the leader. La Dame de Diamants, Colette Houle.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Ring of Diamonds and The Lady of Diamonds.
> 
> Oh yes. Colette is back and we really don't like her.


	45. Chapter 45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long day, the four men spend the night safely united after Porthos' capture.

“Are you sure you're OK?” Porthos asked as Aramis moved around the room preparing for bed. He'd been holding his hand against his injured side all evening.

“I am,” Aramis said lightly. “Just a bit tired.”

He couldn't hide the wince when he sat on the bed beside Porthos and smiled at his lover's disapproving look.

“Leave it,” Aramis said quietly but with a hint of instruction. His heart gave an unhappy lurch when he saw Porthos flinch. “Porthos?” he asked tentatively.

“Just... still reacting,” Porthos said carefully.

“This... Mi vida this seems to have upset you.. more than I would have expected,” Aramis said, searching his face.

“Yeah,” Porthos agreed. “I can't... just... Give me time?”

“Of course, my love,” Aramis murmured.

He unlaced the bottoms of Porthos' braies and rolled them up to examine his knees again. The skin was still damaged and they'd oozed blood all day. Porthos winced as Aramis gently pulled the fabric away from the sticky patches of dried blood. They were both beginning to swell and the leather strap Porthos wore above his left knee was beginning to be tested by the swelling.

Porthos hissed in pain as Aramis' fingers searched along the worn leather and he struggled to sit up, panicking slightly as he realised Aramis was seeking the buckle.

“Sire,” he gasped, reaching out.

Aramis rested his free hand against Porthos' chest, stopping him from rising. He watched Porthos' hands flutter helplessly above Aramis' hand on the strap, unsure what to do. He understood Porthos' uncertainty easily. He, too, hated the idea of Porthos' collar being affected by these injuries but it was necessary.

Nearly six years ago when they'd first been learning to live together, Aramis had bought this for him as a physical reminder of their position together. It had only been removed once in the entire time when a physician had needed to look at Porthos' leg. Even then, Aramis had been the one to remove and it had replaced it as soon as he'd left.

Aramis unbuckled the strap and loosened it, smiling softly at the whine of protest from Porthos. He re-buckled it on its loosest notch, stiff from having never been used before. He tugged the band down slightly, satisfied it still wasn't loose enough to fit around Porthos' large calf.

He leaned sideways onto his elbow, grimacing at the pain the movement caused and kissed Porthos gently.

“Still mine,” Aramis murmured. Porthos hummed his agreement against the marksman's lips.

Blowing out the candle beside his bed, Aramis shifted onto his side, nestling his back against Porthos' side. Normally Porthos would roll onto his side to hold Aramis but he couldn't. Aramis' own injury was raised into the air, his good side pinning Porthos' outstretched arm to the bed. Porthos felt Aramis holding his hand and his other arm came across to rest on Aramis' hip.

“Gonna put the candle out?” Aramis asked, yawning.

“Maybe in a while,” Porthos murmured, stroking Aramis' hip gently. “Just watching you.”

He hated concealing the truth from Aramis but his lover seemed in more pain after a day of working so he kept quiet about his true motivation for leaving the single candle lit.

“Thank you, Sire,” Porthos whispered after a few minutes of silence.

“Hmm?” murmured Aramis. He'd grown instantly drowsy after the exertions of the previous night and the long day without rest. “You're welcome. It needed to be looser.”

“No... I... Thank you,” Porthos repeated.

“Hmm?” Aramis repeated sleepily.

“For coming for me.”

“Always. Eres mi vida. I will always find you and I will always come for you. You're mine and I won't let you go,” Aramis said.

The unselfconscious honesty in his sleepy words made Porthos breathe easier. He hated to admit that in the hours of suffocating blackness, he'd doubted. When he'd heard they were only keeping him alive, when he'd lost time... He'd doubted. It had been so dark. Porthos screwed his eyes closed and pushed the thoughts away. Each time he remembered that time in the cellar, he felt the dark pushing at him again and he couldn't let it take him.

Aramis had fallen asleep against him and he sighed, forcing himself to relax. He was safe, he was warm. Aramis was here. His grip had tightened as he fell asleep and Porthos found safety in the heavy weight of his body on him arm. He couldn't go anywhere, not with Aramis protecting him.

  
  


  
  


  
  


“Here, puppy,” Athos murmured.

He was sat on the end of the bed, pushing his boots off, having already stripped his upper body to the skin.

D'Artagnan was moving around the room, neatly folding their discarded clothes and also stripping. He smiled at Athos and nodded, pausing to unlace his breeches, having already dispensed with his own boots.

“Here,” Athos repeated, crisply.

D'Artagnan moved swiftly to Athos and hovered uncertainly for a moment, sitting down beside him when Athos patted the bed.

“I do not know if this is healthy but I'm remembering something Aramis once told me when Porthos was injured. Exerting his control over Porthos when they were distressed made them feel better as it was.. comforting,” Athos said quietly.

D'Artagnan leaned against Athos' side, wrapping an arm around the older man's shoulders.

“I think that makes sense, Sir,” d'Artagnan said quietly, stroking Athos' arm gently. “I suppose they ground themselves in it when everything else feels out of their control. That simple truth can be relied on.”

“Indeed,” Athos remarked.

There was an uncomfortable silence and d'Artagnan felt Athos leaning against him but he was twisting his hands in his lap.

“Are you... Do you feel the need to use me, to use us, as an anchor?” d'Artagnan guessed.

Athos didn't reply for another long few minutes and d'Artagnan was alarmed to feel a shudder run through the older man's body.

“Just because it works for them, it doesn't mean it would work for us. That's the core of their relationship. Their truest self. I don't believe that's the core of us,” d'Artagnan murmured. “You can lean on me and trust me not to say a word if you don't with me to.”

He pressed a kiss into Athos' hair and felt another shudder run through him. When finally the Musketeer spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

“I couldn't help. He was taken and I couldn't do anything about it. I wasn't there when he was captured and I couldn't follow after him. Aramis left to find him... alone. My best friends were... They...” Athos trailed off and d'Artagnan was startled to feel him turn his head and hide his face against the bare skin on d'Artagnan's chest.

“Shh. I know, Athos. I **was** there. I should have stopped them. I should have stayed with him. I should have rode after them,” d'Artagnan babbled.

He felt nausea growing in his stomach as the feelings he had been burying all day built up. He continued to stroke Athos' arm, his chest feeling wet and he realised with surprise that Athos must be crying but silently as his body was still.

“I'm not the person you think I am,” came Athos' muffled voice.

“Athos?” d'Artagnan prompted gently.

“I will be forever grateful to Porthos for getting you out of that situation, even though it means he was alone,” Athos admitted.

“I believe we all would have been equally pleased to discover only one of our brothers had been taken, whoever it was,” d'Artagnan said gently. “If it had been Aramis that Porthos had kicked off that cart we all would have been pleased he'd managed to save him, too. Either way, all four of us are safe again under this roof. We now know that bitch is responsible for this mess and she will pay for hurting our brother.”

Athos nodded against his chest, understanding the words. He couldn't guarantee, however, his gratitude wasn't simply because he was falling for the Gascon. Regardless of the doubts, he couldn't help feeling some of his tension about the day leeching out of him. D'Artagnan was right. They were all safe, they were all united again. He lifted his head, about to thank his lover but found his face unreadable. There was more there than just the anger his last words suggested.

“Darling?” Athos asked, full of concern.

D'Artagnan blinked once and laughed suddenly. He pulled Athos close again and pressed a kiss into the mass of hair.

“I don't believe anyone's ever called me that,” he mused.

Athos' cheeks flushed in embarrassment. He hadn't meant to say it and he pulled away gently. Pressing a kiss to d'Artagnan's forehead, he smiled and stood up.

“Let's sleep,” he suggested, tugging d'Artagnan to his feet.

Athos watched him carefully as they both finished undressing down to their smalls. D'Artagnan was distracted, chewing his bottom lip and a crease between his brows. Once they were settled in bed, Athos on his back and d'Artagnan having stretched out on his side, head on Athos' chest, the Musketeer began stroking the back of d'Artagnan's neck.

A soft noise of approval came from the younger man and he nuzzled against Athos' skin. Normally Athos would have chosen to play with d'Artagnan's hair, one of his favourite past times when they were in bed together. On this occasion he needed to get through the Gascon's normal instincts to hide his own pain in the face of Athos'.

“Do you feel guilty?” Athos asked.

“No,” was the immediate reply.

Athos had expected as much and he tightened his grip, wrapping his fingers and thumb around to press threateningly either side of the column of d'Artagnan's throat.

“Are you lying?” Athos asked.

“I... No, Sir. Not lying,” d'Artagnan replied carefully.

Athos nodded to himself at the use of the term 'Sir', knowing it meant he was on the right track.

“Honesty please. You know what I'm asking,” Athos said calmly.

“Yes, Sir. I do feel guilty,” d'Artagnan answered, shrugging slightly.

Athos tightened his grip slightly more and d'Artagnan tilted his chin upwards, feeling the pressure on his neck beginning to hurt.

“Talk to me about what you're feeling please,” Athos urged gently.

“I feel inadequate,” d'Artagnan huffed out in a whisper. “I was useless. I didn't even draw my pistol. I let them take him. I...”

Athos waited a beat but d'Artagnan had tensed up entirely, the arm that normally draped casually across Athos' stomach ended in a clenched fist.

“Lie back,” Athos instructed calmly.

D'Artagnan shifted onto his back, his fists clenched by his sides. He wanted to stubbornly avoid Athos' calm, piercing gaze but was unable to resist looking at him. As expected, the grey eyes searched his intensely as he sat up.

Athos moved onto his knees and straddled d'Artagnan's hips, ignoring the tightness in his stitches. He was dimly aware that neither of them were finding this sexually arousing despite the position and yet felt no surprise at their disinterest.

D'Artagnan felt his entire body thrumming with tension. He knew he needed to open up to Athos they way he had to d'Artagnan. He just couldn't get the words out. They stuck in his throat and he was afraid the weakness would show.

He felt a sudden thrill of fear when Athos' hands encircled his neck.

“Talk to me,” Athos said softly.

“I... I can't,” d'Artagnan whispered honestly.

Athos nodded his understanding and tightened his grip slowly until d'Artagnan had lifted his chin and his eyes had gone wide. There was no way his breathing was obstructed but it was tight enough that d'Artagnan clearly felt the threat.

“I let them take him,” d'Artagnan repeated. “I couldn't... I didn't protect him. I... He had to...”

Heat prickled in his eyes and he fought the impulse to cry. That was all he needed. He tried to turn his face away but the tight grip on his throat made it impossible. His hands ached from how tight he was clenching his fists and he swallowed the urge to push Athos off him.

“Come on,” urged Athos quietly. “Talk to me.”

“He... He was able to fight back but I... I wasn't. I failed. I failed him. He had to... He had to....”

The lump in d'Artagnan's throat was growing but so was the pressure from the rough calloused hands wrapped so tightly around it. He felt another thrill of fear as he tried to swallow the lump down but couldn't make it work under Athos' hands.

“If I hadn't been... If I'd been better... he wouldn't have been overcome and I... he never would have been taken,” d'Artagnan whispered.

He felt a rush of anger as wet trails began to leak from the corners of his eyes, trickling down to pool in the hair at his temples. The hands suddenly clamped down on his throat and he couldn't breathe.

Athos felt d'Artagnan's entire body seize for a moment and his hands came up to flutter at Athos' wrists, trying feebly to pull them off. He released his grip after a few seconds, just enough for d'Artagnan to breathe but the threat and the pressure was still there.

“Talk to me,” Athos repeated again, his voice still infuriatingly calm.

“I'm not weak,” d'Artagnan said, trying to sound defiant but wincing as it came as nothing more than a whimper.

“I know,” Athos said, his voice softening. “You need to let it out, though.”

D'Artagnan choked back a sob, trying to cling to his strength. He forced himself to try and speak calmly.

“I should have gone after him. Not run to you. I... should have... I'm not hurt... I... I'm... He... If he...”

The panic was rising in him again and this time he welcomed the painful tightening of hands on his throat, cutting off his breath, making his head throb as the blood was restricted. This time his hands were slack at his sides and he drowned in Athos' grip.

Athos held him tighter, longer this time. He watched d'Artagnan lift his chin slightly, welcoming the control, the threat, the restriction. Welcoming the pain and the fear, the helplessness. He released his grip for a second, just long enough for d'Artagnan to take a single breath, and immediately returned his grip, harder this time.

D'Artagnan's eyes flew open in a panic, desperately seeking Athos'. He found comfort in the calm eyes he knew so well but there was a determination in them that made tears spring to d'Artagnan's eyes again. He couldn't get away from Athos. He wasn't going to accept d'Artagnan's normal defence mechanism of pulling away. He couldn't defend himself against Athos. Here he was, pretty much allowing him to choke the life out of him.

No. Not the life. The hurt. Drawing the pain and turmoil out of him, focussing it, giving it clear points. Athos' hands on him, the pain they caused, pulled the anguish from his body. He made a strangled cry under the hands and tried to pull slightly against Athos' wrists, not sure if he wanted him to let go. It hurt. It was frightening. He felt helpless and he needed it. The pounding in his head and tightness in his chest was growing and he closed his eyes in surrender.

Athos watched the understanding ripple across his young lover's face and he finally released his grip, but didn't remove his hands.

D'Artagnan began to cry in earnest, tears falling freely this time. His entire body shuddered beneath Athos, wracked with quiet sobs.

Athos waited patiently, keeping his hands firm upon d'Artagnan's throat, holding him in place. The man shook and cried for several minutes before slowly calming and opening his eyes to find Athos.

“Talk to me,” Athos repeated, his voice much softer, laced with naked affection.

“I feel so inadequate. If I was better neither of us would have been taken. Maybe if Porthos hadn't had to rescue me, they wouldn't have been so rough with him and hurt him. I should have followed them. I ran to you. I'm not even injured and yet I'm not the one who went after them,” d'Artagnan babbled, his voice tired. “I should have followed the cart. I could have saved the gatekeeper. Or at least taken his horse and followed them. Got to Porthos before he was hurt.”

D'Artagnan seemed to run out of energy and stopped abruptly. Athos moved one of his hands and began to stroke d'Artagnan's cheek gently. The Gascon nuzzled against Athos' hand as much as the grip on his throat would allow and his eyes drifted closed.

They flew open again in mild panic when Athos' hands left him and his weight shifted but he was just resuming his position on his back. Without prompting, d'Artagnan rolled onto his side, resuming their normal position. Athos' hand resumed its firm grip on the back of his neck and d'Artagnan was surprised to find how comforting the sensation of being held in place was.

“You are not inadequate,” Athos murmured softly. “Any one of us can be taken out during an ambush. Porthos was overcome because of the sheer number of people attacking. There's no evidence he was able to draw his sword so they must have swarmed on you remarkably quickly.”

D'Artagnan didn't reply but let Athos' calm voice and reassuring words soothe him. The older man hadn't released his grip on d'Artagnan's neck but his other arm had come up to stroke the Gascon's arm.

“They were rough with Porthos because they were awful, careless people. I don't believe they would have carefully carried two of you down the stairs instead of throwing one,” Athos continued.

He felt d'Artagnan take a deep, steadying breath and he knew he was calm enough to listen to Athos' logic now.

“You could not have followed, d'Artagnan. You were winded, recovering from a blow to the head and, at this point, still bound. You couldn't have taken them on by yourself, even if you had been able to find the cart in the dark once removing the bindings,” Athos continued softly. “You did the right thing. You came for help. We are stronger together.”

Another shuddering breath passed through d'Artagnan and he pressed closer to Athos.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Athos didn't need to ask what for. He, too, struggled to open up and needed pushing sometimes. To be pulled out of his own head. He didn't reply and simply relaxed his grip enough to start stroking d'Artagnan's neck instead of just holding it. Gradually he felt d'Artagnan submit to exhaustion and fall asleep at his side.

How would he explain to d'Artagnan that particular need? He'd told him about his sexual interactions with his brothers but that? Could he ever tell him that? He grimaced. That was yet another thing he needed to tell him. They'd promised to be honest, after all. Athos sighed and reached out to snuff the candle at the side of the bed and gradually fell asleep, too.

 


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They receive an unexpected but very welcome visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also known as "Daddy's Back!"

Despite the four of them being much calmer, breakfast the next morning was a subdued affair. They ate as a group in Porthos and Aramis' room since the former still couldn't stand. Aramis seemed to have grown more exhausted overnight. Being up for thirty six hours and staging a one-man rescue while considerably injured had taken its toll on him and he was clearly still in pain this morning.

D'Artagnan was just bruised and Porthos looked relieved when he said nothing was broken. He did, however, feel a shock of guilt at the large purple patch on d'Artagnan's cheekbone where he'd been struck. Athos, too, was healing well. He was able to walk around without severe pain and as long as he did so gingerly, he was able to sit in a chair with his weight upon the stitching.

It was he who rose when there was a knock at the door. They'd only been brought their breakfast less than ten minutes ago so he opened the door, ready to dismiss the maid and blinked in surprise to find Captain Tréville in the doorway.

“Captain,” he said quietly, standing aside and admitting him.

Three pairs of brown eyes stared at him in shock, his visit entirely unexpected.

“You four look awful,” he said as a greeting, walking slowly into the room, looking at each of them in turn.

D'Artagnan sprang to his feet, wincing slightly and offered Tréville his chair. Porthos and Aramis didn't move and remained sat in bed together. They did, however, let go of each other's hands and silently blessed the fact they'd left their small-clothes on the night before. While Captain Tréville knew of their relationship, he was choosing wilful ignorance and didn't need to be forcibly reminded of it. It was perfectly acceptable for two soldiers to share a bed although they wouldn't normally be shirtless.

The Captain sat in the offered chair and looked around at them all. He took in the bruising on Aramis' side, vivid and noticeable. D'Artagnan had winced as he sat on the floor between the two chairs. There was the way Athos shifted as he sat and the general exhaustion on all their faces. Clearly, something had happened.

“Injury index?” he asked bluntly.

“I have a deep but well healing laceration on the back of my left thigh. No sign of infection but still stitched closed. D'Artagnan has severe bruising to his stomach and that rather large bruise on his face, which resulted in brief but total unconsciousness. Aramis has, as you can see, severe bruising to his entire side and we believe his ribs are broken underneath. I believe he is also suffering from exhaustion. Porthos is faring worse of all. I believe he, too, is suffering from exhaustion but he also carries severe injuries to both of his knees, one of which we think might be broken,” Athos reported crisply.

Tréville looked around at his men, examining their demeanour. They normally all insisted they could do their duties with one leg falling off. Looking around at them now he saw, with no small amount of dismay, they looked utterly defeated.

“How did you come by your injuries? Our last communication was that your business was concluded with the Marquis de Sennecey and you were making your way here to continue your investigation. I decided to come and pay my respects to Martine and see if I could help ease the way as Captain,” he said looking round at Athos again. "You said nothing of any injuries."

“You said nothing of intending to visit us," Athos said dryly. When Tréville gave him a level look, he continued. "As Aramis and I were leaving Bauffremont's, we found out most of his household staff were being held as indentured workers against imaginary or unjust crimes. When we asked around we found most of the female workers were being... mistreated,” Athos said carefully.

Captain Tréville made a noise of disgust and nodded.

“You intervened?”

“Yes. The women have been returned to their homes and those responsible have all been delivered to the magistrate. I have demanded the results of their trials so I have faith they will be dealt with appropriately,” Athos confirmed.

“And you two?” he asked, nodding at d'Artagnan and Porthos. "You were simply questioning landowners in the area. I doubt any of them could have caused this damage and that bruise looks remarkably recent."

There was an uncomfortable silence in the room and the Captain noticed the way all his men were subtly looking at Porthos to answer.

“I got taken,” Porthos muttered.

“What?” Tréville asked sharply.

When Porthos shook his head, Athos recounted how Porthos and d'Artagnan had gone to investigate the three addresses the Marquis had given them. He included, rather bitterly, how he and Aramis were not physically able to assist.

“We did not want to wait, though,” d'Artagnan put in. “As evident by our fruitless search today in the third salon, knowing they're being investigated has made them run. If we had waited we would not have collected the evidence we did from the first and second.”

“Evidence? Today? Enough. How was Porthos taken?” Tréville asked irritably. D'Artagnan quieted and let Athos continue.

“D'Artagnan returned here, alone and informed us there had been a group waiting to attack in the second property. Porthos was able to save d'Artagnan being captured by kicking him off the cart into the street. They left him behind and he raised the alarm,” Athos said quietly.

“You went and retrieved him?” Tréville asked.

“Aramis did,” Athos replied.

There was a brief silence as Tréville studied Aramis who was, indeed, still looking exhausted.

“Alone?” he asked.

“Only had one horse and I was the best option of the three,” Aramis said, shrugging. He winced at the movement. “Couldn't let the trail dry up.”

“And your injuries?” he asked, his eyes moving to Porthos.

“Got thrown into a cellar,” he answered.

“And?” Tréville asked, frowning. Broken bones hinted at something more than simply being pushed into a cellar.

“No, Captain. Literally,” Aramis explained. “They threw him, hands and feet bound, down the stairs into a basement. He landed on his knees.”

“My God,” Tréville said softly.

It was unheard of for prisoners to be treated so carelessly. He felt anger rising in him at the treatment of one of his best men. With his hands and feet bound, Porthos could have broken his neck. This was not acceptable.

“Then?” he asked, his voice low.

“They weren't soldiers. They had no patrols, no proper guards. They were watching the door but hadn't even noticed the hatch into the cellar from the rear of the building. I scouted for a while until they went to bed, retrieved Porthos and we returned here,” Aramis said quietly.

“How long were you held?” Tréville asked.

Porthos grunted. He never liked being made a fuss of and he was also trying not to think about it too deeply, ashamed of how lost he became.

“Coupla hours. Not too long,” Porthos said.

“Five. Five hours. Injured and in pain, bound, no water and in complete darkness,” clarified Aramis.

“ **Complete** darkness?” asked the Captain.

Porthos nodded and the ghost of something passed across Tréville's lined face as he watched. He had to look away. The look of empathy on the Captain's face was too hard. He hadn't told the others how hard it had been being in pitch black for that long but it seemed to stir some long forgotten memory in Tréville. Seeing someone else acknowledge that particular detail made the fear he'd managed to suppress in the cellar rise into his throat like bile.

“Yes,” Aramis huffed indignantly. “No windows. No door. Sealed shut. Not a tiny bit of light. Couldn't see my hand in front of my face. Totally black.”

He felt Porthos take his hand suddenly and squeeze it. When Aramis looked at him, a frown on his face his mouth suddenly transformed recognising the pleading look in Porthos' eyes.

“Oh,” he said softly. He squeezed Porthos' hand in return, the silent acknowledgement that he recognised something was there.

“While Aramis was returning Porthos to us?” the Captain asked, turning away from them and back to Athos.

“We returned to the salon from which he was captured and found a Monsieur Montagne who had come to retrieve a promissory note for rather more than he could afford that he had placed as a bet that night,” Athos continued, flashing his friends a warning look but they had already released each other's hands and were listening.

“You questioned him?”

“D'Artagnan did. The blood and bruising on his face seemed to intimidate him. Not to mention he'd just watched d'Artagnan be kidnapped without raising a finger to help and then suddenly came face to face with the same rather furious Gascon,” Athos answered, his voice tinged with amusement.

“Ah. I see the benefit. How did it go?” Tréville asked. He too hailed from Gascony and understood the concept of such a temper being used to great effect.

“I feel it went well, Captain,” d'Artagnan answered. “He revealed several names of people that regularly attended. He did not, however, have knowledge of the other two addresses we had been informed of. We took him to the guards here in Lyons and informed them of the murdered gatekeeper.”

At a nod from Athos, d'Artagnan continued.

“We then returned to the salon and searched it more thoroughly. While we were doing so, Aramis returned with Porthos.”

Tréville nodded in silence and made a continue gesture to the room at large.

“We spent yesterday questioning all those Montagne named," Athos reported. "Five are in custody, innocent of the crimes we're investigating but admitted to others. We also searched the first salon visited and the third, which we had not yet been to.”

“And found the third empty. You mentioned evidence, d'Artagnan?” Tréville prompted, recalling d'Artagnan's earlier tangent, which now made sense.

Athos withdrew the small books from his pocket and handed it to Tréville.

“We found locked chests in both buildings. These were inside. You see their addresses on them. We found a matching on in the chest from the first. We assume there was one in the third but had been cleared before we arrived,” Athos explained.

Tréville pondered the book in silence for long minutes. Athos grew acutely aware of how laboured Aramis' breathing was in the quiet room but before he could think more on it, Tréville spoke again

“None of the names appear in both books. You say the man you met had no knowledge of the other address? Your conclusion?” he prompted.

"They were three separate operations run by the same person and while the wretches that attacked our brothers may cross from one to the other, I don't believe the players do," Athos replied.

"I agree. What do you make of this name?" Tréville asked, tapping his finger against the name at the top.

“I find it an unbelievable coincidence that this is a different Colette from the one who brought such destruction on Truyart's home. I do not, however, see any evidence the Marquis is involved. If he were, why would he have given us those addresses, knowing what we'd find?” Athos asked.

“I believed he was sincere at the house,” Aramis put in.

“Hmm. I knew his Father. I fail to believe his son would be quite so destructive. Personal gain I can easily believe but at the expense of willingly and knowingly destroying other's lives? I don't see it,” Tréville said thoughtfully.

“Athos thinks his mother works at the palace,” Porthos said gruffly.

“Hm? Yes. She does. I don't believe she's seen him for years,” he mused.

“What do we do now, Captain?” asked Aramis, the fatigue in his voice plain to hear.

“I think you two rest. You two, come with me and we will question the three men you have in custody,” Tréville answered, standing.

Athos and d'Artagnan followed him out of the room and led him to theirs. Closing the door behind him while the two of them gathered their weapons, Tréville frowned.

“What happened to Aramis?” he asked.

D'Artagnan blinked in surprise and looked at Athos.

“I didn't notice until today. I assumed yesterday was simply over exertion,” Athos said.

“I don't understand,” d'Artagnan said.

“He should be getting better after this long. He's not.,” Athos explained.

D'Artagnan realised with a start the two men were right. Those ribs had been damaged over a week ago. He, himself, had cracked ribs before and while niggling and painful they shouldn't be quite so debilitating as they were for Aramis.

“He was kicked,” Captain Tréville said darkly. “I know bruising like that. He wasn't just struck in a fight. He was repeatedly kicked while on the ground.”

There was an awful silence following his words. Athos hated himself for not noticing, for not asking. For not recognising it, for not insisting Aramis let him look at it. For letting Aramis ride off alone to find Porthos. He looked sideways at d'Artagnan who looked nauseated, clearly struggling with revulsion at coming across people who didn't fight with honour like he'd always been raised to.

“We will send a physician to see them both,” Tréville said firmly and led them from the room.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me...


	47. Chapter 47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porthos and Aramis are visited by a Doctor

Porthos was startled out of his thoughts by a knocking on the door. He had been unable to close his eyes long enough to fall sleep, the dark still unnerving him. Glancing at Aramis beside him, Porthos frowned. He was on his back, his face turned to the side. His breathing was shallow and uneven. Porthos, too, had noticed Aramis' declining condition but he'd been told to leave it.

“Come in,” he called, assuming it was one of his brothers.

He was half right when d'Artagnan edged into the room but he was followed by a man Porthos didn't know. He was carrying a small leather bag and was dressed in simple but well tailored black garments. He was short with a balding head and a thin green scarf around his neck, seemingly completely out of place with the rest of his outfit.

“This is Doctor Soyer. The Captain has asked him to look at you both,” d'Artagnan said quietly.

“Good morning Monsieur,” the Doctor said, bowing slightly to Porthos.

“You too,” Porthos answered. Relief washed over him. Finally Aramis was going to be looked at without protest. He grew worried, though, when Aramis didn't wake up hearing them come in. He was normally a very light sleeper outside of their own home.

“Him first,” Porthos instructed.

“I'm told your injuries are simpler,” the Doctor hedged. In actual fact, what he'd been told was Aramis would not allow himself to be attended to before Porthos and the Doctor was not a confrontational man.

“Captain's orders,” d'Artagnan said, brightly.

Porthos relented and pulled the sheet off himself and dragged himself to a sitting position, his back against the wall. He reached down to unlace the bottoms of his braies and his hands paused.

His strap. Aramis' collar. He wasn't permitted to remove it. It was akin to a wedding ring. Aramis had loosened it but It was still there and still just as important.

Moving automatically he unlaced the legs on his braies and gingerly pulled them up and over his knees, exposing the battered, bruised joints to the Doctor's eyes. It was also the first time d'Artagnan had seen the damage and his sharp intake of breath was even more upsetting. Aramis had cleaned the wounds as best he could but there was no getting away from the mess.

“Would you remove this, please?” Soyer asked, confirming Porthos' fears.

“It's ever so loose. It doesn't hurt,” Porthos babbled, panic rising in his chest. “It's very special. I don't ever take it off.”

“Your knee needs to swell. I can see a line where the swelling has already reached the leather,” the doctor argued.

D'Artagnan was confused at Porthos' protests but suddenly understood when his friend flashed a panicked glance at Aramis' sleeping form. He quickly stepped around to wake Aramis and found him clammy to the touch but he woke easily enough at d'Artagnan's touch.

“Oh. Hello,” he murmured in confusion. He automatically looked around the room and found a stranger sat looking at him. “Hello,” he repeated and received a nod in response.

“Someone going to clue me in?” he asked, pulling himself up, his hand going to his side as he did so.

Nobody needed to explain, though. As soon as he realised the stranger was touching Porthos' knee, just above the loosened leather strap he guessed why he'd been woken up. A quick glance at Porthos and he understood.

“Here. Let me,” he murmured.

Leaning over, he gently turned the strap until he could find the buckle. He deftly undid it and gently drew it away from Porthos' knee. He could feel Porthos' panic and, as soon as the Doctor's attention had returned to the injured joint, he took his lover's hand in his.

Squeezing his wrist hard enough to hurt, he caught Porthos' eye. He stared steadily at him for a few seconds before wrapping the leather twice around his wrist and buckling it again. Porthos nodded gratefully and they both turned their attention back to Doctor Soyer.

“I agree with your assessment, Messieurs. This knee cap is, indeed, broken. I'm told you landed on them after a fall?”

“Down a flight of stairs, yes,” Aramis answered, his voice growing angry again.

“Then I would not be surprised if the ligaments, that is the fibres that hold your bones to one another, are damaged. Can you move it?”

“Yes but it hurts,” Aramis answered.

If the Doctor found it surprising that Aramis was answering for Porthos, he didn't remark upon it.

“What hurts more? Bearing weight or moving the joint?”

“Bearing weight. Moving hurts but is possible. The pain fades to a tolerable level once the joint has stopped moving, as in when he takes a seat, however when he tries to stand or take a step, it doesn't hold,” Aramis said, frowning. He was good with musket wounds and stabbings. How the inside of the body actually worked was still a mystery and not one he liked the idea of people investigating.

“Then I do not believe any of the damage is permanent. I believe the inside of the knees were simply badly shocked and have swollen. I do, however, believe this bone is cracked and will take some time to heal,” he said, gesturing at Porthos' left knee, which was so bruised it was almost black. “I am ordering strict bed rest for the rest of today and all of tomorrow. Then I will return and assess again. I will show you some small exercises at that point that should prevent any permanent damage.”

Porthos nodded mutely, still fingering worn leather on his wrist.

“Thank you for your time, Doctor. An injury such as this was beyond me,” Aramis said, smiling.

“You are most welcome,” Doctor Soyer replied. He stood and walked to Aramis' side of the bed and waved a hand. “Lay flat please.”

“Oh I just have a couple of cracked ribs. I will heal just fine,” Aramis said, laughing lightly.

“Captain's orders,” repeated d'Artagnan and, just like Porthos, it made him grumble but comply.

“How did you come by these injuries?” asked the Doctor as he began feeling his way down Aramis' side.

“Ah. We are Musketeers. In the pursuit of justice one often has to get physical,” Aramis said gaily.

“I have been informed you have yet to actually tell anyone,” Doctor Soyer said quietly, frowning slightly as he reached the deepest bruising. “Although your Captain has a theory.”

“Does he? I'm curious,” Aramis teased, flashing the Doctor a winning smile. It faltered slightly as the Doctor continued to press on his abdomen.

Doctor Soyer simply raised an eyebrow at him.

“My friend was injured and I became overwhelmed by opponents. Someone struck me from behind and I lost my sword. Without that to defend myself they were able to land some blows,” Aramis said, his smile growing tight.

“I concur with your Captain. You are keeping the truth from your friends and unfortunately that explanation does not explain the extent of the injuries,” Soyer said quietly. He glanced up at Porthos who was smiling sadly at Aramis.

Aramis turned his head away from the Doctor and stared fixedly at the seam on Porthos' hip.

“When he lost his sword, he was knocked to the ground. They kicked him,” Porthos said sadly.

Doctor Soyer nodded, seemingly satisfied. D'Artagnan, however, couldn't stay silent.

“Why didn't you tell us?” he blurted.

“Lad. Not now,” Porthos said.

“No. It's fine,” Aramis said, sighing as he turned his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I let them, d'Artagnan. I thought they were just going to beat us like they did the girls. I didn't know how badly Athos was hurt and if letting them grow bored would get me to him quicker I was willing to take a few kicks.”

D'Artagnan's stomach rolled again at the thought of Aramis putting himself in such a situation and he marvelled at the devotion these men had to one another.

“But they could have killed you,” d'Artagnan protested.

“Yes,” said Aramis bitterly, hissing as Soyer's fingers continued to palpate across the bruising. “I divined that was their plan when they purposefully kicked between my arms and aimed for my stomach. I fought back then. I would have laid there to be kicked a few times but I would never lay down let them kill me.”

He turned his head to Doctor Soyer who was looking rather pale.

“Doctor?” he prompted.

“They may have,” he said gently.

“What?!” shouted d'Artagnan. He glanced at Porthos to see all the colour had drained from his face.

“You are correct that some of your ribs have cracked. I estimate four at least. However... I... I also feel your belly is full of blood,” he said grimly. He gestured at some bruising around Aramis' navel that was removed from the patches over the impact sites.

“So... what happens now?” Aramis asked, numb.

“If whatever is torn inside your abdomen can heal itself and stop the blood loss, you will make a full recovery,” he said.

Aramis didn't need to hear what would happen if it couldn't but once again, d'Artagnan couldn't keep quiet.

“And?” he asked impatiently.

“Imagine a wound in the abdomen,” Soyer said, patiently, turning to d'Artagnan. “Some are a graze and heal on their own. Some are serious and the blood loss means a man needs days to heal. Some are fatal.”

“But you stitch wounds,” d'Artagnan protested. “To stop the blood.”

“I cannot stitch the insides of your friend," the doctor said gravely. "If it heals, you will be fine,” he added, turning back to Aramis who was staring blankly at him.

“His chances?” d'Artagnan asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

“Quite good. It seems to have taken quite a while to get this bad, which is encouraging. The injury occurred some time ago, I understand. Unless it was aggravated more recently, I would say it's a very slow bleed that is likely to heal on its own quite soon.”

“How long?” Porthos asked through clenched teeth.

“Oh I can't say,” Soyer said quietly.

“Until we know. How long until we know?” Porthos ground out.

“Ah. Probably around the time I return to see you,” Doctor Soyer said gently. “If nothing has... changed... by then, I will re-examine.”

Nobody replied to this and Doctor Soyer collected his bag. He took d'Artagnan by the arm on his way to the door.

“He need to drink lots of water. No alcohol. He also needs to remain either flat or ON his injured side. Not on his good side. He must lay either flat or ON the injury. Understand?” he asked in a low voice. When d'Artagnan nodded, he continued. “I don't want either of them out of bed but for bathing and changing.”

Receiving another nod from the stunned Gascon, Doctor Soyer glanced back at the bed and left without another word.

D'Artagnan closed the door behind him and turned back to his friends on the bed. They were staring at each other in utter silence. They both looked completely numb.

“Aramis-” he began.

“Get. Out.” Porthos growled without looking at him.

D'Artagnan stumbled from the room, closing the door behind him. He slid to the floor in the hallway and dropped his head into his hands.

“Aramis,” he whispered.

 


	48. Chapter 48

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The five men react to the startling news

Ten minutes later when Captain Tréville and Athos arrived, d'Artagnan hadn't moved from the floor. Athos shared a surprised glance with the Captain and hurried to draw him up onto his feet.

“D'Artagnan?” he asked softly, pressing his fingers against his tail bone.

“Aramis might die,” he said bluntly, closing his eyes as the words reminded him all over again of the awful truth.

He felt rougher hands on him as the Captain shook him slightly.

“Tell us everything,” he demanded.

“Porthos' knees are badly damaged but should heal fine. Strict bed rest for two days and the Doctor will be back. Aramis... He...” Tréville shook him impatiently and d'Artagnan had to swallow a sudden sob. “He's bleeding on the inside and if it doesn't stop on its own in the next two days he'll die.”

Tréville released d'Artagnan and took a horrified step back. Athos quickly took his place and wrapped an arm around the younger man's shoulders.

“We can't stay here,” Athos said suddenly, realising they were basically pressed up against Aramis and Porthos' bedroom door.

“I have to talk to him,” Captain Tréville said in a strangled tone.

Athos didn't move from the doorway, effectively blocking the Captain's path.

“Athos,” he said, the warning clear.

“Give them some time,” Athos said, meaningfully.

At this Tréville made an exasperated snorting noise and turned away, striding to d'Artagnan and Athos' room. He waited impatiently as Athos undid the door and the three of them settled into chairs in stunned silence.

“Oh God!” d'Artagnan exclaimed suddenly.

The other two jumped and stared at him.

“He said... Oh no, no,” he moaned, dropping his head into his hands.

“D'Artagnan,” said Tréville firmly, his gravelly voice somehow comforting. “What is it?”

“The Doctor. He said it was clearly a very slow bleed because it had taken so long to get worse but it... It's only since...” he trailed off and looked Athos who had gone pale and was gripping the arms of his chair so hard his knuckles were white.

“Since he went to find Porthos?” suggested Tréville. The other two nodded.

Another silence fell over the room and d'Artagnan could feel the self-loathing rolling off Athos in waves but he wasn't sure what to do. He, too, felt like it was his fault. He'd been winded but unharmed. He was actually the least injured of all of them and not only had he allowed Porthos to be taken in the first place but he'd then let Aramis ride off injured and alone to rescue him. Suddenly Tréville spoke, startling the Gascon from his thoughts.

“I'm going to see Martine,” the Captain said, his voice thick with unspoken emotion. “I am staying with her while our business keeps us in Lyon. The King does not expect me back for a month so we have time should...” he trailed off.

“Should the worst happen,” supplied d'Artagnan in a hollow voice.

“Yes," he replied, wincing slightly. "I will return around six this evening and we will all dine together in their room. I will not lose either of them over this. **If** the worst should happen I would have them prepared for it and we will not let the time we have with him be filled with despair,” Tréville added firmly, standing up as he spoke.

He looked between the two, his gaze lingering on the still silent Athos. He shook himself slightly and departed without another word.

As Tréville closed the door, d'Artagnan sank to his knees in front of Athos.

“Stop. Stop now,” he insisted.

“Stop what?” Athos asked, a bitter smile twisting his lips.

“Blaming yourself. We can't. We can't blame ourselves. If I had gone, I might have passed out. If you had gone, you might have bled to death. If none of us had gone, Porthos would still be missing and from the sounds of it, died of neglect. Aramis brought him back to us,” he said, his voice low and urgent.

“At such a price,” Athos sighed.

“A price any of us would have paid. The Captain is right. We can't let this destroy us. Any of us. We have to be strong for Aramis. If God sees fit to take him, we have to be strong for Porthos. He may not want to survive this,” d'Artagnan insisted.

“I'm not sure I do,” Athos murmured, staring into space.

D'Artagnan stood and slapped him hard across the face. Athos blinked in surprise and focussed his eyes on d'Artagnan as if seeing him for the first time.

“You selfish prick,” d'Artagnan said loudly.

“I beg your pardon,” Athos said slowly, not quite sure he'd heard correctly.

“You heard. You told me I had a family. You have been telling me for months to trust you all to never cast me out, to never abandon me. And now? Now one of my friends might be dying, another is on the verge of being lost forever and my best friend in the world tells me he wishes to leave as well?” d'Artagnan asked, his voice rising to a shout.

“I do not wish to leave **you** ,” Athos said sounding as though he'd aged ten years in a day. “I just don't know how to survive this. Everything I touch, everyone I love, they're destroyed.”

“Don't be so self pitying,” snapped d'Artagnan.

Athos blinked in surprise again. He wasn't used to this from d'Artagnan. Porthos occasionally grew exasperated but there was genuine anger radiating from d'Artagnan.

“You're thinking about yourself. What about them? What about me?”

“I don't know how I would live without one of you,” Athos said hopelessly.

“If Aramis dies I should pitch myself off the guard tower? I love him, too,” d'Artagnan said harshly.

When Athos looked up there were tears in his eyes, something d'Artagnan had never seen before. His anger evaporated in a moment and he returned to his knees, clasping Athos' still gloved hands between his own.

"Athos... Sir... Please. The hardest thing in the world is simply to live. We have to do that. For Aramis, for Porthos. For the King, for the country. For the Captain. For each other. **Live** with me, Athos and I will be by your side every painful, heartbreaking step of the way,” he pleaded quietly.

Athos took a deep breath and nodded. He pulled himself to his feet and tugged d'Artagnan to his as well. Without speaking, the two of them stripped down to just their shirts and breeches and lay together on the bed, face to face. The simplicity of having one another close seemed to strengthen each of them and they gradually calmed down enough for their emotional fatigue to lull them into a light sleep.

  
  


  
  


  
  


It was nearly an hour after d'Artagnan had left before either Aramis or Porthos could speak. They'd simply stared at each other in horror for ten minutes before Porthos had managed to slide down in the bed to lay beside Aramis. Since then they had been gazing at each other in silence, unable to find the words to express how they felt.

They were both well aware that Aramis' rescue of Porthos was the cause of this new internal injury but neither of them said it. Porthos knew Aramis wouldn't accept it. He was also well aware that he would have willingly given his own life to rescue Aramis from that situation. Aramis, too, knew this fact and saw no point discussing. What was done was done and Porthos' safety was worth it.

“Porthos,” Aramis said, his voice thick. “I love you.” There was nothing else to be said. It wasn't just the reason for his injury, it was simply... the reason.

Porthos choked back a sob that had been building around the lump in his throat and he pressed a desperate kiss to Aramis' lips, trying to stop the tears from falling.

Years with Aramis had made it so easy to feel and to feel so strongly. After decades of never opening up, never feeling emotions beside anger and superficial humour, Aramis had uncorked something in him. How would he ever live, trying to bottle it back up again?

“I will love you for the rest of my life,” he croaked, pressing his forehead against Aramis'.

“Just love me for the rest of mine,” Aramis replied in a whisper.

 


	49. Chapter 49

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos and d'Artagnan try to stop the others wallowing

Athos woke d'Artagnan about an hour after the midday sun had passed. He hadn't slept much but the Gascon in his arms had been solid. He, too, wanted to give his friends time to come to terms with the news but Captain Tréville was right. They couldn't be allowed to wallow.

“I've been thinking,” he said softly as d'Artagnan joined him in the waking world.

“Yeah?”

“You were right. We need to be strong for our brothers but I don't need to close myself off from them. I'm... I'm going to need your help to stop withdrawing, though,” Athos said quietly.

“Anything,” d'Artagnan murmured and pressed a kiss to Athos' neck, just below his jaw.

“Come on. Let's go and check on them,” Athos said softly.

“Oh,” d'Artagnan gasped quietly.

“Pup?” Athos asked, pulling himself out of bed.

“I forgot. The physician gave me some instructions I forgot to pass on. He must only lie flat or on top of the injury and he needs to drink lots of water, no alcohol,” d'Artagnan relayed, pulling himself to his feet.

“Then we will make it our mission to tend to them. Porthos you said is on strict bed rest?”

“Yes,” d'Artagnan said nodding. “So we will need to bring them food, drinks and make sure neither of them move?”

Athos nodded and sat to pull his boots on.

“You were an excellent nurse to me, now we will attend to them,” he said quietly.

D'Artagnan watched him press his fingers to the back of his leg and raised his eyebrows.

“Still tender,” Athos said, answering the unspoken question. “You?”

“Only hurts when I press on it. Breathing doesn't bother me any more,” d'Artagnan answered.

The two of them finished dressing in silence and Athos sent d'Artagnan downstairs to collect a pitcher of clean water and, after a thought, to request a bowl of hot water to wash with. He knocked once and entered Porthos and Aramis' room.

Porthos was sat up in bed still but Aramis had shifted slightly and while he was still on his back, his head was in Porthos' lap. Athos could hear his breathing from the doorway.

Closing the door behind him, he walked quietly to the chairs beside the bed.

“Sleeping?” he asked.

“I don't think so,” Porthos answered, his hand stroking the dark waves. The hollow sound of his voice was painful to hear and Athos pretended not to notice the red eyes.

“No,” said Aramis quietly without opening his eyes.

“D'Artagnan has explained the news to myself and the Captain,” Athos said.

“Mhmm. Such interesting news, it is,” murmured Aramis sarcastically. “Are you all aligning around my bed to watch me die?”

Porthos tugged his hair enough to make him open his eyes.

“Not funny, Sire.”

Aramis inclined his head in silent apology and closed his eyes again.

The three of them sat in silence, the weight of losing one of them heavy on their minds. For years it had been the three of them. They were inseparable. None of them could imagine life without one of the others.

“Do you remember when I found out about your relationship?” Athos asked. “Porthos was gravely injured and the biggest danger was blood loss. It seems to me that is your danger now.”

With difficulty, Aramis forced his eyes open again and he nodded at Athos.

“So I'm told,” he drawled.

“Do you remember what you said to me just after you'd stitched his side closed?” Athos asked.

Porthos looked between the two. Having been unconscious, he had no idea what Aramis had said. Glancing down, it appeared Aramis did remember.

“I told you I wouldn't lose him,” he said quietly.

“You told me you wouldn't **fucking** lose him, actually.”

Aramis chuckled softly and nuzzled into Porthos' lap.

“Are you telling me I shouldn't give up?” Aramis asked.

“I am telling you if you try to do so I will punch you in the face as often as needed until you stop being such a fool,” Athos said dryly.

At this Porthos and Aramis both laughed.

“I need to ask you something,” Athos said quietly. “Did you let this happen?”

Aramis turned his head towards Athos and nodded.

“To save my life?”

“Yes. Although I did not realise they intended to kill us. When I was disarmed I assumed they would kick until I stopped fighting and leave, as they had left you when you fell,” Aramis answered.

“They did not?”

“No,” Aramis replied. He raised his arm to show Athos the faint bruise on his forearm. “The only kick they landed to my arms. Every other they managed to get between and aimed to kill. That I wouldn't lay down for.”

Athos nodded in understanding. While he still felt a pang of guilt that Aramis had been injured while he had been on the floor, it was a decision he would have made as well.

There was a knock on the door and Athos stood to admit d'Artagnan. He was carrying two pitchers of water with two cups held precariously under his arm, which Athos rescued. He was followed by two maids each carrying a heavy bucket of slightly steaming water.

“What's this?” asked Porthos as the maids withdrew, leaving the four of them alone.

“The Captain is returning to dine with us and discuss our next plan of action in a few hours,” Athos explained. “We're going to assist you both to bathe and make you more presentable.”

“Next plan of action?” asked Aramis.

“Why do we need one?” Porthos scoffed. “No matter what happens, we're not able to do anything for days.”

“You're Musketeers,” Athos said quietly. “As your superior officer, I have not given you leave to abandon your posts.”

Porthos grunted and Aramis rolled his eyes.

“You, neither of you, are cowards. I'm confused why you're acting like them now,” d'Artagnan said bluntly, moving forwards and leaning on the back of Athos' chair.

“Coward?” growled Porthos angrily. “He came to me, on his own and got me out of there, possibly killing himself in the process and you dare call him a coward?”

“Not then. Now. Both of you,” d'Artagnan shrugged.

Athos reached up a lay a warning hand over d'Artagnan's.

“D'Artagnan?” Aramis asked. He pressed his head back against Porthos' thigh to keep him quiet. “Kindly explain.”

“We're still on a mission. You are both injured, yes. I don't see why that should stop you fulfilling your duty,” he answered.

“I am somewhat more than injured,” Aramis said, tiredly.

“Maybe. Maybe not. If you're not do you really want to have spent two days laying around in bed and not helping? And you,” he said, turning to Porthos. “Are you going to claim your knees mean your head isn't working?”

Porthos frowned at the truth in his words and looked down at Aramis before answering. The rueful smile on his owner's face calmed him slightly.

“Yeah. OK. I get ya,” he admitted.

“Time for a bath then,” d'Artagnan said brightly, wringing out one of the cloths floating in the closest bucket.

“What? You're serious?” asked Aramis, laughing weakly.

“No. He's d'Artagnan,” Athos replied, standing and removing his doublet, clearly intending to help.

“I am? I thought that was you and I'm Athos,” d'Artagnan teased.

“No. I'm fairly certain the words, 'my name is d'Artagnan of Lupiac in Gascony. Prepare to fight. One of us dies here' will live with me forever,” Athos replied, laying his jacket neatly over the back of his chair.

D'Artagnan laughed and moved forwards to Porthos' side, handing him the cloth. At a silent nod from Aramis, Porthos began washing his chest and stomach, aware of the others' eyes on him.

Athos moved one of the buckets around to Aramis' side of the bed and wrung a cloth out. He couldn't stop the small curve of his lips when Aramis looked up curiously at him.

“Front first?” Athos asked.

“You're only to lie flat or on the injury, I'm told,” put in d'Artagnan.

“On the injury?” Porthos asked, incredulously. He handed the cloth to d'Artagnan who exchanged it for a fresh one.

“I know. He was adamant, though. Kept repeating until I agreed. Seems wrong,” d'Artagnan shrugged.

Aramis hissed in pain as he raised his arms above his head but it passed as soon as he'd stopped moving. He tried to decide if that was a good thing and settled for peering up expectantly at Athos. He couldn't stop himself raising his eyebrows as his body was exposed to Athos' gaze.

“You're shameless,” muttered Athos.

Porthos laughed and handed the cloth back to d'Artagnan who dropped it in the bucket and gestured for him to lean forwards.

“I'm not a cripple,” Porthos huffed.

“Nor are you double jointed. Let me do your back,” d'Artagnan insisted. When he didn't move d'Artagnan sighed. “Aramis. Help me out.”

Porthos stared at him in surprise.

“What are you doing?”

“What? Because he's in pain he can't get you to do things?” d'Artagnan asked.

Porthos couldn't find any words to argue and when he looked down at Aramis for help it was to find him grinning as Athos was wiping carefully under his arm and his chest on the good side.

Porthos grumbled in defeat and leaned forwards. Once the warm cloth began moving across his skin, he was unable to deny how good it felt to have someone washing his back after such an awful couple of days. A calm quiet fell over the four of them as d'Artagnan and Athos worked. Porthos was keeping an ear out for any painful reactions from Aramis but Athos' firm but gentle touch was careful and none came.

“Time for your back,” Athos murmured quietly.

They all tensed slightly.

“On the injury?” Aramis asked, frowning at d'Artagnan.

“That's what he said,” he replied, hovering uncertainly. “Should we... Never mind.”

“D'Artagnan?” Aramis asked.

“Well I didn't... I don't know how... thoroughly we're intending to bathe you and if we are... going to... Wouldn't it be best to remove your braies so... to do the back of... the whole of your body at once...” d'Artagnan trailed off, embarrassed at his suggestion.

“Ah,” Aramis said inadequately.

“I believe that would be best,” Athos commented. “I assume you both trust me to do so.”

“Well you have seen both of us in the most compromising of positions before so I don't see why not,” Aramis teased lightly. He did, however, flick his eyes meaningfully towards d'Artagnan.

“D'Artagnan. Would you prefer to wait outside?” he asked softly.

“Only if one of you wishes it. **I** do not know you that closely so if you would prefer your privacy, I will understand,” he replied with dignity.

Aramis glanced at his lover beside him who was looking horrified at the idea of d'Artagnan cleaning him intimately. Athos saw it too and remembered how nervous the man had been the first time Athos had seen him naked.

“Perhaps that would be best,” Athos said quietly. He smiled softly at d'Artagnan who nodded but not before Athos had seen the hurt in his eyes.

He shook his head as d'Artagnan left and began to unlace Aramis' underwear.

“I'm sorry,” Porthos said uncertainly, well aware Aramis would have had no issue with it.

“It's fine, my love,” Aramis said, patting his leg. He lifted his hips as Athos pulled his under-clothes down and glanced between the two, nodding to signal he was ready.

Aramis' injured side was closest to Porthos, which was fortuitous, meaning he could roll towards him, exposing his back to Athos and Porthos would not need to get up.

“OK,” Aramis said, steeling himself for the move.

Porthos and Athos' hands on him were gentle and rolled him carefully over, though they both winced at the moan of pain it elicited. Aramis was breathing heavily and pressed his face firmly into the material of Porthos' small-clothes.

“Shh. Shh. It's OK, Sire. He'll be quick,” Porthos soothed, stroking Aramis' arm.

Athos was, indeed, quick and careful. He made swift work of Aramis' shoulders and all down his good side. He rinsed the cloth out again and carefully washed down the bruising on his injured side. The amount of bruising that had come through was reassuringly small. It seemed no kicks had landed here, leading Athos to believe the only colour was from the bleed and not from damage.

As he moved to Aramis' buttocks, he kept his movements swift but this apparently was the wrong thing when Aramis left out a breathy giggle as he swiped rapidly between his cheeks.

Porthos gave him an apologetic smile and Athos rolled his eyes. It appeared some how in the last few days they had an opportunity to get reacquainted that had left Aramis' entrance rather sore.

“I do hope this was pre-injury,” he commented.

Aramis chuckled against Porthos' hip.

“Post-injury, pre-kidnap,” he said, still laughing as Athos sighed, using his hand to part Aramis' buttocks and clean him more thoroughly.

“The two of you are incorrigible,” he murmured, letting go.

Together they rolled Aramis onto his back and Athos gestured at him to part his legs. He exchanged cloth again and began to clean Aramis' genitals, trying hard to keep his movements perfunctory. Unfortunately, the three of them had, indeed, been intimate on many occasions and Athos couldn't stop images from those moments coming to his head.

“Are you telling me you weren't pleased to see d'Artagnan after so long apart?” Aramis asked lightly, as if Athos didn't have a wet cloth wrapped around him.

Athos coughed in surprise and ignored the question. He glared at each of them when they both began to chuckle. He could feel a hot flush creeping up the back of his neck and he knew they would notice.

“About that,” Aramis said as Athos changed cloth again. He obligingly placed his feet flat on the bed so Athos could clean up and down his legs.

“You know I like my privacy,” Athos said without looking at him.

“What about us?” Porthos asked.

Athos blinked in surprise at the question. It had never occurred to him how his growing relationship with d'Artagnan would effect the two of them, with whom he also had a relationship, however casual it might be.

He dropped the cloth back into the bucket and helped Aramis back on with small-clothes, releasing them so Aramis could do them back up. He'd never figured out the double knot Aramis did that was remarkably secure yet always seemed to come undone with one tug. He looked between them and was startled to see them both looking almost nervous. There was a sadness in their expressions that made Athos realise that perhaps it wasn't only him that cherished their time together.

“I... What do you mean?” he asked, buying time while he moved to Aramis' feet. He sat on the end of the bed to thoroughly wash the marksman's feet, causing him to wriggle slightly. He'd always had ticklish feet.

“Well... You... We...” Porthos sighed in frustration, unable to form the question.

“Do you still wish to spend time with us that way?” Aramis asked.

“I don't know,” Athos answered honestly. “D'Artagnan is vitally important to me and I am thoroughly enjoying my time with him. My time with you is also important, though. You two did so much for me when you first met me. Without you, I don't know what I would have become.”

He leaned over to pick up a towel and began thoroughly drying Aramis' feet. His face was lined in thought.

“I won't betray d'Artagnan. I think he understands I have not spent time with you that way since meeting him. I won't do so without informing him,” Athos said slowly.

“You aren't cutting ties with us entirely then?” Aramis asked as Athos stood.

“I don't think I wish to, no. I... You meet a different need than he does. While I am able to explore my more... dominant desires... with him, I do not believe I will ever have the kind of dynamic with him as I do with you,” Athos answered carefully.

“Ah. So you feel you might still require that particular service from us even if we aren't intimate that way any more?” Aramis surmised.

“Yes,” Athos confirmed. He moved to pick up the bucket and move it when the door opened.

“What service?” asked d'Artagnan closing the door behind him and leaning against it.

The three Musketeers blinked in surprise and stared at him.

“What service?” he repeated.

“D'Artagnan. I thought you were waiting outside,” Athos said quietly.

“And I thought you had told me all of what you had done together. You knew. You knew how much I struggled with the idea of the three of you being more experienced than I and sharing that bond,” he said softly. Athos would have found it easier if he'd shouted but the quiet hurt in d'Artagnan's voice made Athos truly ashamed.

“I did not lie to you,” he said quietly.

“You have been with holding something from me,” d'Artagnan said, inclining his head.

“I need to assist Porthos before the water goes cold,” Athos said, looking away from him.

“Perhaps I should assist,” d'Artagnan suggested frostily.

“Hey now,” Porthos said warningly.

D'Artagnan's expression softened and he looked at his friend.

“I only meant because you are unable to turn onto your side. Soyer informed me you can get out of bed to bathe and change but I believe you will need my assistance to stand steady. I give you my word as a gentleman I will keep my eyes closed if you wish it,” he said kindly.

Porthos glanced down at Aramis who smiled, shrugging slightly.

“I had the thought outside. It's why I began listening at the door so I could suggest it while you were both... covered. I did not want to interrupt you while you were bare so I began to listen for an indication you were both decent,” d'Artagnan explained, smiling. “Of course I found something more interesting to hear,” he added, his voice growing cold as he flashed an unfriendly glance at Athos who hadn't moved.

D'Artagnan walked to Porthos' side and helped him turn to place his feet on the ground. The Musketeer growled at the pain when he bent his knees and he took several deep breaths before nodding at d'Artagnan.

The Gascon moved under Porthos' left and together they raised Porthos his feet. The room was filled with the sound of his ragged breathing as he fought through the waves of pain.

“OK?” asked d'Artagnan as he calmed slightly. “I think two steps will give Athos enough room. You going to be able to do that?”

Porthos nodded, his eyes closed. Any embarrassment he'd felt about d'Artagnan assisting him to wash his genitals had gone with the realisation he genuinely needed the help.

“See Porthos. You're a two man job,” Aramis teased from his place on the bed.

Porthos nodded without opening his eyes. Knowing Aramis was there, his eyes on him, gave him strength and he gripped the back of d'Artagnan's jacket. Before he could think too hard about it, he forced himself forwards two steps, gritting his teeth and groaning with the effort.

He stopped, leaning heavily on d'Artagnan who was still below his arm and panted through the pain.

“OK, good. Just lean on me. Athos will be quick,” d'Artagnan soothed. He shot a glance over his shoulder to Athos who had moved up behind Porthos to undo his braies. “Unless he gets distracted,” d'Artagnan added coldly.

“Not now,” Athos said, letting Porthos' underwear fall.

“No, no. Mustn't talk about it while d'Artagnan is present,” the Gascon said, scathingly.

“Oh for God's sake, Athos. Tell 'im,” grunted Porthos.

“It really would be for the best,” Aramis chimed in.

Athos sighed heavily and crouched behind Porthos, working up his right leg, taking care not to touch the front of his knee. It was only when he was rinsing the cloth to change legs that he found the strength to speak.

“I have... some desires, some needs... that most people cannot meet. You... You enjoy a little discomfort with your pleasure. So do the rest of us. It is something the four of us share,” Athos said quietly.

He paused while he cleaned carefully around Porthos' left knee, dismayed at just how swollen it was. Moving up to his thigh, he continued.

“Some people enjoy pain in a non-sexual way. It's... rare and complicated,” he said.

Athos stood and, with some difficulty as Porthos was unable to spread his legs, began to clean him more intimately. He risked a glance at d'Artagnan who staring at him in confusion.

“It's about letting go. It's about stress relief,” Aramis said quietly. “It pushes you to a place where the stress of every day life and whatever it is that's bothering you doesn't matter and all the matters is getting through the pain to a place where it washes away everything else. Some like to soak in a hot bath to wash their cares away. Some like to exercise. Some like to go for a ride. Some, like the two of them, need to lose themselves in another.”

D'Artagnan turned in surprise and looked at Aramis steadily. He'd pulled himself up to recline on his elbows so he could watch proceedings.

“I don't... understand,” d'Artagnan said slowly.

“Try,” Aramis replied gently. “You've never felt such emotion and exhaustion that you just want the whole world to fall away? You've never felt it build and build inside you with no way to let it out?”

“No. I just cry....” d'Artagnan answered, trailing off as he suddenly realised what Athos had done for him the night before. He'd pushed d'Artagnan into crying and releasing the tension.

D'Artagnan was too bewildered to notice Athos had moved in front of Porthos to carefully clean his groin.

“Do you believe either of them can do that?” Aramis prompted.

D'Artagnan looked blankly at the broad shoulder under his chin, cast a glance to Porthos' face, screwed up in concentration and pain. He thought of Athos. Stoic, distant Athos who struggled so much to be open.

Meeting Aramis' eyes again, he watched the Musketeer smile encouragingly. He floundered uncomfortably, not sure what to do with this information.

“And you?” he asked, not sure what else to say.

“Very rarely and only ever with Porthos. It's almost entirely sexual for me,” Aramis answered.

“Them?”

“A combination for Porthos. As far as I'm aware it's entirely non-sexual for Athos. Our sexual encounters are separate from our... other,” Aramis said.

“Please, speak plainly,” d'Artagnan said quietly, quickly losing his way in this conversation.

Athos stood, raising Porthos' braies and re-lacing them. D'Artagnan turned to look at him and Athos flinched at the anger in his eyes. He took a deep breath and decided if he was going to be the man d'Artagnan deserved, he needed to, as the man had asked, speak plainly.

“I have found that overwhelming physical pain delivered in a careful and healthy way helps me deal with emotional pain. Aramis and Porthos are experienced enough to be able to provide this without danger and I trust them entirely. On occasions our interactions lead to sexual encounters but, as Aramis says, they are not the same,” Athos explained, keeping his eyes on his hands while he spoke.

“You... That's the service you meant?” d'Artagnan asked, swallowing hard.

“Yes,” Athos replied simply. He looked up at d'Artagnan and saw the confusion in his eyes.

“Gentlemen. If would be so kind as to return my man to me,” Aramis prompted.

They both realised with a start that they were keeping Porthos upright unnecessarily now that Athos had finished. Together they assisted Porthos the short distance back to the bed and helped him sit back down.

Athos found his breeches and helped him pull them up over his legs. D'Artagnan took his weight again as Athos pulled them up over his hips and quickly laced them.

Together they manoeuvred him back on to the bed, his back against the wall and handed him his shirt. Putting it on, Porthos looked around, feeling much better already. He didn't feel as coddled now that he was dressed.

D'Artagnan and Athos looked at each other uncertainly, tension filling the room now their purpose had been achieved.

“Am I not allowed clothes?” Aramis asked, dryly.

“Breeches, perhaps. No shirt. No way to get it on you without sitting you up,” Athos answered, grateful for the distraction.

He quickly helped Aramis on with his breeches while he remained flat on his back. He could hear d'Artagnan moving the water to beside the door.

“We had another instruction from the Doctor,” Athos said, filling a glass from the pitcher. “You need to drink lots of water.”

“To replace the blood?” Aramis asked.

“He didn't say,” answered d'Artagnan.

Athos and Porthos propped Aramis up on some pillows, not enough that he was sat up but enough that he could drink. Aramis did so thoughtfully. Presumably the body used something to replace the blood it lost from injury. It made sense that it would use water.

“Reckon we should swap places?” asked Porthos.

Aramis looked up, startled. They'd chosen this way round because Aramis usually slept on his side, in Porthos' arms. He realised, though, they had made the decision based on Aramis laying with his injury in the air.

“That might be best,” Athos said. “When Tréville arrives you will be able to see him whether on your back or on your side.”

Aramis agreed, having not thought of that either. He was growing restless being flat on his back and it was only mid afternoon.

“So which of you is going to get up?” d'Artagnan asked, looking between them. They were under strict instructions to keep them both in bed. He didn't think Porthos would manage to walk all the way around the bed and Aramis needed to be jostled as little as possible.

Oh for goodness sake,” Aramis said, exasperated.

With difficulty, he pulled himself to a sitting position and batted Athos and d'Artagnan's hands away. Holding a hand to his side, he pulled himself to his feet and carefully walked around the bed. He was finding it very frustrating to be injured enough to be limited without a constant pain to make him feel limited.

He watched Porthos shuffling sideways, his teeth gritted against the pain. He was definitely looking better now that he was dressed. Aramis obediently settled back onto the bed, Porthos having reassembled the pile of pillows allowing him to be something other than flat.

“That was stupid,” Porthos murmured, stroking Aramis' hair.

“I'm fine. See,” he replied, grinning.

“For now,” Porthos whispered.

Aramis' smile slid off his face and the possibility of his death suddenly filled the room again. They all felt it like a shadow they'd managed to ignore for a few minutes.

“So... You don't wish to sever ties with them. Is that what I heard?” d'Artagnan asked.

They all turned to look in surprise at their youngest member.

“What? What else are we going to talk about?” he asked. “This is important.”

All three of them turned to look at Athos, awaiting his answer.

“I... Not for that, no. I became so much... healthier when they introduced me to it. I am somewhat prone to self-destruction and they provide a level of protection from it,” he admitted, a ghost of a smile crossing his face.

D'Artagnan nodded thoughtfully and sat down, the chairs still beside the bed from earlier. Athos sat beside him and they watched each other carefully.

“You... you told me you did not wish to deny me anything. I feel the same. While I am very, **very** annoyed you kept this from me, I understand why you did so. I would ask the same of you that did, me. I ask that you keep me informed,” d'Artagnan said firmly.

Athos searched his face, not quite believing d'Artagnan had accepted so easily.

“Are you sure?” he asked in a whisper.

“I'm sure. You have made no request of me to remain exclusive, knowledge being enough to reassure you I remain yours. I would like to think I have the same consideration,” d'Artagnan replied.

He fell into silent thought and the others didn't dare speak.

Porthos flicked his gaze down to Aramis and they had a quick but silent conversation. Porthos shrugged.

“You know,” Aramis said carefully. “There is no romance between him and us. It's purely physical.”

“I know,” d'Artagnan answered. He turned suddenly to Athos. “What did you mean when you said something about not having the dynamic with me you do with them?”

Athos frowned and looked down at his hands, neatly folded in his lap.

“In the course of meeting my need for pain, I often need to lose myself in an identity other than my own. A role, if you will. Invariably it requires I submit to them. I do not believe I could ever do that with you,” he answered without looking up.

“Trust me?” d'Artagnan asked flatly.

Athos looked up, horrified.

“No!" he exclaimed quickly. "I don't believe I could ever be anything but myself with you. I don't know that I would be able to put on an act towards you. I... Everything I've shared with you has been honest and true. I don't know that I could be any other way with you,” Athos continued, reaching a hand out.

D'Artagnan took it and lifted it to his mouth, kissing it earnestly, his face screwed up in what seemed like pain.

“I understand. I am.. relieved. I don't know that I could ever take a hand to you the way...” he trailed off, not willing to share.

Athos nodded his understanding and gave his hand a friendly squeeze.

“What do you two wish?” d'Artagnan asked, glancing at their brothers.

They both looked supremely uncomfortable to be brought into this conversation. Porthos looked downright guilty, as if he was responsible for causing strife between two of his best friends.

“Well... we admit we would not like Athos to fall into destructive ways again. I have seen the damage that can be done by these desires not being met in a safe way,” Aramis said slowly.

D'Artagnan nodded and glanced at Porthos.

“Look... We don't love 'im like we each love each other but he is part of our lives and he does hold a place in our heart,” Porthos said carefully.

“It's true,” Athos said quietly. “They first offered me a place in their bed because I was... broken. Over time they have helped me heal and it has become something different. They...” he trailed off, unable to put it into words.

D'Artagnan squeezed his hand encouragingly.

“They're home,” Athos said, raising his head. “I cannot imagine forsaking them. They, too, occupy a place in **my** heart.”

Aramis cleared his throat and they all turned to look at him.

“We're nearly three hundred miles from Paris. Even if we left now and weren't wounded, we have nearly two weeks before we're in a position for this to matter. Might I suggest we leave it there, for now?” he said lightly. “For now... if we promise not to ravish Athos while you aren't looking would that suffice?”

A chuckle ran through them all and they all relaxed slightly.

“Does that mean we can ravish him while 'e **is** looking?” Porthos asked, grinning.

The shocked look on d'Artagnan's face made them all laugh again, even Athos.

“You're a terror, mi vida,” Aramis scolded playfully. “Might I suggest a game of cards? Take our minds off everything. I believe we still have a few hours until the Captain arrives.”

 


	50. Chapter 50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Musketeers and their Captain discuss the investigation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK I wrote and rewrote this lots of times. It took about three days to work on but I'm finally happy with it.

The afternoon passed slowly. All four of them were trying hard to act as if everything was normal but it was hard to keep up the pretence when Aramis grew tired after only an hour and drifted into a light sleep. Porthos closed his eyes and tried to pretend his lover's breathing wasn't frighteningly laboured.

D'Artagnan watched Porthos watch Aramis and wanted so badly to comfort the big Musketeer but all he could think of were empty words. Telling him to focus on the possibility of Aramis' survival was just insulting. They were all pretending it was definite but Porthos, more than the others, had to face the truth. It was not a guarantee.

As the room began to dim, Athos rise to light a fire and the wall torches. D'Artagnan was pleased to see Aramis had stirred at his movement and was slowly returning to wakefulness. That was definitely an improvement on when he'd slept through Doctor Soyer's arrival.

Aramis was still awake and increasingly alert when d'Artagnan admitted Captain Tréville. He informed them all he had arranged for a small meal to be brought up along with a third chair so d'Artagnan didn't need to remain on the floor, where he'd settled again.

“You both look much better,” Tréville observed, taking a seat.

“We feel it,” Aramis answered for them both. “Getting dressed helped.”

“Feels more like ordinary healing than some sort of convalescence,” Porthos added, still subdued.

“And the news you received?” Tréville asked bluntly. Like d'Artagnan, the blood of Gascony ran in his veins and made it impossible to shy away from uncomfortable topics. He watched Aramis wince slightly before answering and felt a pang of guilt but he needed to know.

“I can't pretend I'm not thinking of it but I am attempting to focus on the good,” Aramis answered. It was only because the four men present knew him so well they could hear the tremor in his voice. “I worry for Porthos,” he added, glancing up at him.

“I'll be fine,” Porthos grunted but Aramis had already turned back to the Captain.

“We will take care of him,” Athos said quietly. The Captain nodded his agreement.

Porthos felt too close to losing Aramis to pretend it was only a friend or brother he would be without. Aramis was more than a lover, even.

Aramis nodded his gratitude at them both. He, like Porthos, was unable to pretend they were simply friends. He took in the way the Captain was nodding his agreement and it occurred to him that he might just know of the specific power element of their relationship. He knew they were lovers but Aramis hadn't realised the Captain might know Porthos answered to him.

After a few moments of heavy silence where Captain Tréville watched Aramis' understanding dawn, he spoke again.

“How would you like to proceed?” he asked. His voice was thick and Aramis felt a rush of affection for the man.

“I think I would like us to continue with the mission as if I were, like Porthos, only injured. For all we know that is the case and, as Athos told him, my mind is not harmed,” Aramis replied.

“Not harmed but you have to agree it may be somewhat occupied,” d'Artagnan argued gently.

Aramis took the time to consider their youngest member's words. They were not intended to make him dwell, simply to consider how effective he was. He appreciated d'Artagnan's thought, to make sure Aramis was capable. It meant a lot that he respected Aramis enough not to coddle him.

“Your point is well made, d'Artagnan, but I believe all of us understand the value of distracting ourselves with work,” Aramis said firmly.

“Very well,” Tréville answered.

He produced three pieces of parchment from inside his jacket and, handing them to Athos, explained.

“I made enquiries today with Captain Colier about those three buildings the Marquis of Senneccecy identified. After some digging through false names and hidden paper trails they all belong to the Houle family. Further digging reveals a Mademoiselle Colette Houle to be the only living member of it,” the Captain explained. “Several generations ago they were quite well off. Certainly respected. Martine's parents knew the name.”

“It would appear over the last two years all the repairs have been made and back taxes paid up to date,” Athos observed, his eyes scanning the documents. “All three, the same amounts, same dates. No mention of who paid, though.”

“The Marquis?” asked d'Artagnan.

Before anyone could answer there was a knock at the door and d'Artagnan rose from the floor to admit the maids and, to their surprise, the innkeeper himself who was carrying the extra chair they'd requested.

Athos and Captain Tréville also rose to assist and together they moved the low table to the side of the bed and the maids laid the food upon it. The three chairs, they arranged to one side, opposite Aramis. The maids left but the innkeeper lingered to dish out the stew they'd been brought.

“Thank you Monsieur. That will be all,” Athos said, taking the spoon from him.

The man nodded and took a hasty step back from the group.

“Perhaps you would be so kind as to return to us in an hour and assist us with the dishes?” Aramis asked lightly.

The innkeeper took another step backwards and bowed to them all before leaving in a rush.

“Aramis?” prompted Athos.

“He's scared of us but wants to talk,” Aramis commented.

“You think he might know something of this mess?” Athos asked.

“I'm not sure yet,” Aramis replied, thoughtfully.

D'Artagnan half rose from his chair and leaned across Aramis to hand Porthos a bowl of stew. Before taking it, Porthos rearranged the pillows under Aramis' head, propping him up slightly more.

He raised his eyebrows in question at Aramis who narrowed his eyes unhappily. Without further comment, Porthos rested the bowl on his thigh so Aramis could feed himself carefully. D'Artagnan handed Porthos another bowl for himself. Nobody remarked upon Aramis' uncomfortable position and he was realistic enough not to comment and, instead, concentrated on carefully spooning his dinner across from Porthos' thigh.

“So what do we do about her?” d'Artagnan asked.

Athos shot him an approving look, pleased he'd thought of distracting everyone from Aramis.

“Do we confront her?” he continued.

“I don't believe so,” Athos said quietly.

“Do we confront **him**?” d'Artagnan suggested, frowning.

“I suspect he doesn't know,” Captain Tréville answered.

“Do we tell him? I suppose she's on the alert now that Porthos is missing,” d'Artagnan remarked.

“Use him to draw her close?” Athos asked.

“That might work,” the Captain said, thoughtfully.

“Porthos?” Aramis asked. He'd felt his lover stiffen at the mention of his disappearance.

“M'fine,” Porthos answered.

He looked up when nobody spoke to find them all watching him. They all, even the Captain, knew better than to question Aramis' instincts around people and Porthos most of all.

“She was going to kill me,” Porthos answered reluctantly.

Aramis' face darkened and Athos reached a hand out to touch his wrist, bringing the marksman back.

Captain Tréville was also looking furious. Aramis had told them all Porthos had heard them talk of Colette but this was new.

“Porthos?” d'Artagnan prompted and the larger man sighed.

“I heard 'em saying they needed to keep me alive... until she got there,” he said with difficulty.

“That answers the question about what to do with her,” Aramis murmured.

“Aramis?” Athos asked.

“We kill her,” the marksman said flatly.

They all knew Aramis didn't mean it. They didn't want to murder her. They wanted to bring her to justice.

Whether Aramis meant it or not, Porthos felt warmed by his reaction. He couldn't deny he was still horribly shaken by what had happened to him and facing losing Aramis on top had made huge dents in his confidence. However, Aramis always meant safety and knowing that he was still possessive and protective enough to be vengeful about her made him sit up a little straighter.

“Maybe not kill,” grumbled Aramis when nobody answered. “We need to end her, though.”

“Aramis,” Athos murmured softly.

“No, Athos. He's right. Look at us. Look what her schemes and plans have done to us all,” d'Artagnan said angrily.

Athos looked around at his brothers and finally met the Captain's eyes. Tréville simply raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“Captain?” Athos asked in surprise.

“How do you want to proceed, Athos?” Tréville asked. “I'm of agreement with the others. She needs to be stopped and brought to justice. She will answer for what she's done.”

Athos nodded and fell silent while he thought through his options. The room was quiet but for the sounds of the men eating. Aramis had given up and was letting Porthos feed him after his arm grew tired.

“The Marquis,” Athos said finally, placing his empty bowl on the table and picking up his wine glass.

“She duped him just as much as anyone,” d'Artagnan commented. “Why would he help her?”

“He wouldn't,” Tréville answered. “She fooled him more than anyone else.”

“He's her weak link,” Athos explained.

“ **She'll** help **him**?” Porthos guessed.

“I believe she would,” Athos said, nodding thoughtfully into his glass.

“After everything she has done to him? Why would she help him? She obviously doesn't care about him,” protested d'Artagnan.

“I think she loves him,” Athos replied without looking up.

An uncomfortable silence followed this statement, broken when d'Artagnan took Porthos and Aramis' empty bowls from them. He flicked his eyes up to see Aramis silently thanking Porthos for his help. Perhaps he'd spent too long with them that he could understand the silent expressions.

“If that's true,” d'Artagnan said slowly. “Are we really going to use that fact... against her?”

“Hmm?” asked Athos, tilting his head.

“Are we going to use the fact that she loves someone as a weapon to bring her down?” d'Artagnan asked uncomfortably.

“Yes,” stated Aramis flatly.

Athos watched d'Artagnan pale under the look in Aramis' eye. However injured he might be, Aramis would never ever forgive the woman who orchestrated Porthos' kidnap. D'Artagnan himself had noted one of the only things the normally cheerful man became truly angry about was Porthos.

“She did it to Martine,” the Captain said quietly and all four men turned to look at him. “She played on the fact that Martine loved Truyart to try and make her betray him.”

“You really think she loves him?” d'Artagnan asked, still unable to believe it.

“I do,” Aramis answered. “You saw how she wouldn't talk to us until we admitted we weren't going to target him. I saw her face when we finally released her into his arms. She loves him. Truly loves him.”

“I'm not so sure it's as true as you think but I will admit **she** believes she loves him. I'm not sure a woman that dishonest is capable of love,” Athos said. When the others looked at him he seemed to regret speaking. “I think she'll come to his aid.”

“His aid?” Porthos asked.

“What are you thinking, Athos?” asked Tréville.

“I believe if the Marquis lets it be known he is gambling again and has fallen into debt with another group, one she doesn't have control over, she will attempt to help him,” Athos answered.

“You mean to use him as bait to lure her into restarting the salons?” d'Artagnan asked.

Athos nodded.

“He doesn't know,” Aramis commented suddenly and his voice had softened.

“Doesn't know what?” Tréville asked.

“He doesn't know she's betrayed him. He doesn't know she's lied. It might destroy him,” Aramis added.

D'Artagnan and Athos shared a glance, unseen by the others. Athos knew, all too well, how much it hurt to find out the woman you loved was a liar and a criminal. D'Artagnan was the only person that knew what had happened.

“Do you reckon he'll be able to help bring her down, then?” Porthos asked, glancing down at Aramis.

“It's his duty,” Athos said, harsher than intended.

“Love can sometimes trump duty,” Aramis answered gently.

There was a knock at the door and d'Artagnan rose to answer it.

“I didn't hear that,” the Captain murmured at Aramis and Porthos, the affection in his voice clear. While he chose to pretend they were not in love, he couldn't always deny it and certainly not when they were so badly hurt.

The innkeeper followed d'Artagnan into the room and Aramis was heartened to see he'd come alone. Receiving a nod from the Captain, he addressed the man.

“Thank you, Monsieur. The stew was most excellent,” he said politely.

“You're welcome sirs,” he said nervously, glancing around as he began gathering their dishes.

“We're here investigating a gambling ring with a somewhat criminal element,” Aramis said lightly but carefully watching the innkeeper carefully.

His hands had started to shake dramatically at Aramis' words and he dropped the three bowls he'd managed to stack. Nobody made any move to help him and Aramis let the silence drag on for a few moments.

“I don't suppose you know anything of this group, do you?” Aramis asked casually.

“Why- Why would I- How- Why would you ask such a thing?” he stammered.

“Oh... You know... People talk. Your establishment here is quite busy most evenings, is it not? I was curious if you'd picked up anything from any of your customers,” Aramis replied, continuing his casual air.

“I- No sir. Nothing I... I have not heard,” he stammered.

“Of course, Monsieur. Although I'm surprised you, yourself, haven't been approached,” Aramis mused, picking imaginary lint off his stomach, successfully drawing the innkeeper's eyes to the movement and the severe bruising, visible across his abdomen.

“I... Why?”

“Well given the excellent quality of these rooms, the wonderful food and the bustling trade downstairs, I am surprised you have not been targeted by them, affluent as you must be,” Aramis continued, meeting his eyes steadily.

He immediately dropped the dishes he'd managed to collect once again.

“Oh sirs. Please. Help me,” he cried, falling to his knees.

Captain Tréville made a gesture to d'Artagnan who slid to his knees and helped the man rise and settle into his vacated chair. He cleared a space on the end of the table beside Athos and perched there.

“Monsieur...” Tréville began.

“Mermot. Claude Mermot,” the innkeeper supplied miserably.

“Monsieur Mermot,” Tréville began again. “Does the term La Bague de Diamants mean anything to you?”

Mermot nodded and dropped his head into his hands.

“This used to be a small place. No rooms up here but my own. We did well and over the course of several years, we expanded, buying out the two properties either side. We started getting gentlemen, like yourselves, staying once we'd upgraded the beds and things. Hired us a cook, couple of maids,” he said, shrugging. “Became a nice place.”

“It is, indeed,” soothed Aramis.

“Then me wife died on the birthing bed. Our son was so little. Too little. Came before his time, see. He wasn't strong enough and I lost them both,” Mermot continued, suppressed tears making his voice thick. The pain in his voice was awful to hear and Aramis glared meaningfully at Athos, who obediently covered Mermot's hand with his own.

“La Bague de Diamants?” the Captain asked gently, nodding his approval at Aramis when Mermot seemed to pull himself together. Athos recognised it too and withdrew his hand.

“I am ashamed to admit I fell into despair when my Iréne passed with our son. I began to grow reckless. We had built up enough high quality staff here that the place continued to run. I only needed to be here to pay them. I began to drink. I am not one to partake too often. It is a poor wine merchant who drinks his own wares. I did, however, begin to frequent some of the...” he trailed off.

“Some less reputable houses?” Aramis supplied.

“Yes. In order to... I visited... women, there. I began to linger late into the evenings after my time with them and began to play cards. I was good... Or at least... thought I was good,” he said, his voice miserable again.

“I felt alive. I was winning. I had friends. I didn't have cares, I just had the cards I was dealt and I could make the best of them,” Mermot continued. “Then the stakes got higher and I was introduced to some people that played for more money, more prestige. The wine was free,” he added, laughing bitterly.

“Mademoiselle Houle?” Aramis prompted.

Mermot nodded.

“Yes. She called herself the Lady of Diamonds. She visited every night, charmed every man there. Over on Rue Bodin,” he added, looking up at them.

They all exchanged a glance. That was where the third salon was. The one they'd found empty.

“That was the only place you played?” Athos asked.

“Yes. Why?” he asked, confused.

“No reason,” Aramis said smoothly. “Can I assume you fell into debt?”

“What? No. Well yes, sort of. But never that bad. Always paid it on time and came away some nights in profit,” Mermot asked, startled.

“Then forgive me, Monsieur, but why are you so frightened?” asked Aramis gently.

“I was there... last night,” Mermot said, glancing down at his hands.

Nobody said anything and Mermot glanced at the ceiling in silent prayer for a moment before continuing.

“We were playing as normal but a man came and spoke to the doormen for a moment. They suddenly gathered together some pistols and returned to the door. Then another man came and said... He... I was coming back from the privy and I heard him say that...” he glanced apologetically at Porthos before staring determinedly at his hands. “They had captured the Musketeer bamboula ******  and the Lady would kill him for snooping.”

Everyone looked at Porthos who didn't react but for grunting at Mermot to continue.

“I realised they must have meant you and I... I was a coward. I didn't tell any of you. I saw the Doctor and I realised one of you must be hurt but I see... I'm so sorry,” he finished lamely.

There was another long silence until Athos spoke.

“I do not believe your actions that night were wrong at all. You did not take our brother, nor did you assist them. I do, however, wish you had sought us out on your return here,” he said quietly.

Mermot nodded frantically.

“As do I. I was so afraid, though. I knew they were not the most honest of people but I had no idea they were capable of murder. Once I had heard they intended to... I was too frightened to stay but I wanted to stay so far from trouble,” he said earnestly.

“Thank you for your information, Monsieur. Speak of this to nobody else,” Captain Tréville said quietly.

He stood when Mermot did and shook his hand. While meant as a gesture of gratitude, Tréville made sure his grip was tight enough and that he stood tall enough to make his instruction clear.

“Of course, Captain. I will speak only to yourselves,” Mermot agreed quickly.

As Tréville released the man's hand, d'Artagnan rose from his perch on the table and helped him collect the dishes together. He escorted him to the door and with a last grateful nod at them all, the innkeeper left.

“So what now?” asked d'Artagnan, retaking his chair.

“Well we now have further confirmation that none of the players in each of the three salons knew of the others but we now know the men guarding each of them do all work together,” Athos said slowly.

“Bauffremont did. And The men at the house knew each other,” interjected Porthos.

“Yes. I got that impression, too. They're friends more than trained comrades. They were sloppy and not at all focussed,” Aramis agreed.

“Do you think they live there?” asked Tréville thoughtfully. “If they weren't putting up a regular guard, it would imply they feel safe enough not to need one.”

Aramis thought back to that night. He had to admit, he'd been searching for Porthos more than anything but he had watched the men carefully. There was a stable where he'd seen the carthorses being attended to. He hadn't seen the cart itself so that implied they had somewhere to keep it. They had at least one dog, which also meant feed and either a kennel or an animal they're familiar enough to let in. Then the way they were just strolling around..

“I think that might be possible,” Aramis answered slowly. “They were, as you say, very comfortable there. I saw no hard evidence to prove permanent living, though.”

“We could go find some,” Porthos growled.

“You can't,” d'Artagnan retorted. “Perhaps I-”

“No,” stated Athos firmly. “None of us are going anywhere near that building until we're sure what's going on. They may well have cleared out after Porthos' disappearance. If they haven't, they are too many and we, too few, to attack as we are.”

“I agree,” the Captain said. He took a large mouthful of wine.

“If they have moved on, perhaps the fact that none of us have appeared to investigate would encourage them to consider the house still safe and they may return,” Athos continued.

Aramis huffed out an annoyed breath. Like Porthos, he was eager to do something. He respected the Captain's insistence that he and Porthos continued to work while laid up but now they were forming a plan, he was itching to get going.

“So the Marquis, then?” prompted d'Artagnan.

“I believe he is in Macon this week,” Tréville replied. “Presumably she is with him if she's close enough to come to Porthos over night. I shall ride up there tomorrow with Athos on the pretence of checking on those trials you asked for.”

“I... Honestly, Captain, I do not believe my leg will make forty miles in a day,” Athos answered, stiffly.

“Ah yes. Forgive me. I forgot the location of your wound. I shall take d'Artagnan. Provided your temper will keep around them both,” the Captain amended, looking pointedly at the Gascon.

“It will Sir,” d'Artagnan answered quickly.

“Good. Then I will depart. I will call for you at sunrise. See you that you are ready and have breakfasted by then,” Tréville instructed, standing and picking his hat up.

He drained his glass and looked at the pair on the bed.

“Rest tomorrow, gentlemen,” he said gently. He paused as if wanting to say more but he was unable to find the words and he swept from the room.

“S'getting dark. If I'm to be up and breakfasted by sunrise, I should head to bed now,” d'Artagnan commented.

Athos rose and offered the Gascon his hand. He nodded to his brothers and they left.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Bamboula is a French racial slur for black people. It's derived from the Bantu words for drum and is deeply unpleasant.


	51. Chapter 51

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porthos and Aramis have some time alone to reconnect.

Aramis turned to look up at Porthos as the door closed.

“OK, mi vida?” he asked gently.

Porthos leaned over to light the candle beside the bed before carefully manoeuvring until he was laid down beside Aramis.

“Thanks,” he said quietly.

“For what?”

“For wanting to kill her,” Porthos said sheepishly.

“Mi vida?”

“Dunno. Made me feel better,” Porthos replied, shrugging slightly.

“No. There's something there. Why did it make you feel better? Don't tell me you don't know, you do. What is it?” Aramis asked, searching Porthos' face.

“You're... You're always there for me. Protecting me,” Porthos admitted, looking away.

He still struggled, even with Aramis, to admit weakness. He was a Musketeer. He fought to be one. He'd fought his entire life for what he wanted. Yet whenever he had those moments of self doubt, Aramis was there. Not a word of this did he need to say.

“I am. You're mine, Porthos. Not just my best friend, not just my lover but you are mine. My own.”

Aramis reached out and ran his finger over the strap now on Porthos' wrist. Porthos took a shuddering breath and leaned forwards to nuzzle against Aramis. Now that they'd swapped positions, he could get as close as he liked, the injury being on Aramis' left. He still couldn't roll onto his side because of his own injuries but he could mould their sides together.

Aramis nudged Porthos and, when he lifted his head, slid his arm under Porthos' neck to begin trailing his fingers up and down his lover's arm.

“There's something you're not telling me,” Aramis said softly.

Porthos nodded, turning his face to press against Aramis' deceptively muscled shoulder.

“Come on Porthos. You know I need to know. It is your strength in sharing your troubles that gives me such power over you. This is your promise to me,” Aramis crooned softly, bending his arm to trail his fingers through the dark curls.

“I was so scared,” Porthos whispered.

“Oh,” breathed Aramis.

He knew Porthos was struggling with the reality of being captured. His reaction when they were discussing the dark had let him know Porthos was uneasy but he hadn't realised Porthos had actually been terrified while being held.

“Shh,” Aramis continued to murmur. “I've got you. I came for you. I found you. Nobody takes my boy from me. Nobody.”

Porthos nuzzled into Aramis and the marksman's heart ached to feel tears on his shoulder. All his instincts were screaming at him to tell Porthos he would always come for him but in light of his own injury...

He continued to stroke the curly hair for a few moments while Porthos cried silently. Aramis brought his other arm up and stroked Porthos' clothed chest without comment. It felt so awkward, the two of them being forced to lay on their backs side by side. It was their natural instinct, curling into one another. Long before they ever came together as men, they shared bedrolls as soldiers.

Gradually the gentle shaking of Porthos' body slowed and he lifted his head to find Aramis' eyes. They were soft, kind, not at all judgemental. Porthos' instinctive apology died on his lips and he gave a weak chuckle when Aramis nodded approvingly.

His head was guided back onto Aramis' shoulder and he closed his eyes peacefully.

“What was it that upset you so?” Aramis asked quietly.

“The combination of all,” Porthos answered. “The dark was so... so absolute. It made everything worse. It made everything... more. You know when you blindfold me to make me focus? Well it was like that but the only thing there was... pain.”

Aramis felt a wave of nausea at the impact his training had clearly had. He had taught Porthos that the blindfold meant he was to focus on Aramis and whatever sensation he was giving. Porthos had clearly done so, focussing on the pain in his legs the entire time Aramis had been searching for him.

“No, no. No, Sire. Not like that. It wasn't because of that, it just had that effect,” Porthos said in a rush, having felt Aramis tense.

“I don't see the difference,” Aramis said quietly.

“Uhm. You... When you do it, it's to strip everything else away. It... You make you the only thing that matters,” Porthos said, struggling for words. “There it was... The dark became the only thing that mattered. I don't know how to explain. You remove everything distracting me but it just piled in on me.”

Aramis didn't answer and just continued to run his hand across Porthos' chest while they both thought.

“I couldn't... I drowned in it, Aramis. I got lost. So lost. Every time I tried to think of something else, all I had was my legs and... and the dark. I couldn't... We've all been trapped at some point or other. We've all been injured. We deal by... By thinking of a way out. By learning all we can about where we are. By counting the bloody bricks if we have to,” Porthos said. “But there I couldn't... I couldn't get away from the fact that I was unable to move and I was going to die.”

Aramis felt his own eyes welling up as Porthos spoke.

“And then... Like you always do... You brought the sun with you,” he whispered.

“Oh Porthos,” Aramis breathed, turning his head to press a kiss against Porthos' hair. “That's why the candle was still burning this morning?”

“Couldn't bear to...” Porthos mumbled, nodding against Aramis' shoulder.

“I understand, my love,” Aramis said soothingly, stroking Porthos' chest still.

They stayed like that in silence for a long time. Aramis felt himself growing drowsy but Porthos was still tense and thoughtful.

“Spit it out, mi vida,” murmured Aramis.

“I don't know how to ask how you're feeling,” Porthos answered.

Aramis chuckled softly.

“That will do it. I assume you don't mean physically?” he asked.

“Yeah. I don't... I know you don't need to ask me but I don't know how you're doing,” Porthos answered.

“I don't need to ask you, no. I know you're devastated. I know you think you can't live without me. I know there's a little part of you that's considering not doing so. A part of you, I might add, that will never **ever** see the light of day,” Aramis said, his voice hardening. When he felt Porthos nodding his agreement, he continued. “I know how desolate I felt at Poitiers when I thought I would lose you. The years have done nothing to dampen our love for one another so no, mi vida. I do not need to ask how you're feeling.”

Porthos nodded again, pressing a kiss to Aramis bare skin.

“And you, love?” he asked quietly, recognising the dodge.

Aramis sighed loudly and tilted his head to press another kiss to Porthos' head.

“I go into every battle prepared for death. I am at peace with the bad decisions I've made and content that I strive to be a good man. If a battle should go ill, so be it. We all live with that reality. Moments from death at any moment. Any ambush, any fight, a stray musket ball...” Aramis trailed off.

After a long moment's silence Porthos nudged him gently.

“This is different. This is... None of us expect to live a long life, waiting for death in our comfortable, warm beds. Yet I am... only without the long life. I'm... I feel as though there is a noose around my neck and I've no idea if it will be tightened and there's nothing I can do,” Aramis muttered in frustration.

Porthos kissed his shoulder again before shifting his weight and kissing Aramis' neck instead. The marksman sighed peacefully and Porthos settled back against his shoulder.

“Even in battle when a stray, unexpected ball might strike us down, it feels as though we have some control. Well, not control perhaps but it's going to be so sudden we aren't staring down the musket for days wondering if they're going to fire,” Aramis mused.

“I'm not looking forwards to tomorrow,” Porthos murmured.

“No. Nor am I. An entire day of doing absolutely nothing. I can already feel my back seizing from inactivity. At least you can sit up,” Aramis grumbled.

“Yeah I suppose, Sire. I'm in constant pain, though,” he argued.

Aramis laughed.

“Touché, mi hijo quejumbrosa,” he chuckled.

“Pick a language,” Porthos grumbled, smiling against Aramis' skin.

“Me disculpo, mi hijo,” Aramis replied, smirking. “Voy a recordar en el futuro. Ya no voy a rebajarme a nuestra lengua materna. Esto es mucho más bonito, ¿no le parece?”

Aramis' question was punctuated by a sudden, loud laugh as Porthos bit him on the shoulder.

“Translation?” Porthos grumbled.

“He hecho mi elección, mi vida,” Aramis replied, laughing as Porthos bit him again.

“You're awful,” Porthos muttered.

“Pero me amas,” Aramis whispered.

“Know what I realised, Sire?” Porthos asked.

“Mmm?” Aramis asked, trailing his fingers in the curls.

“Well I asked someone how to say I love you in Spanish,” Porthos said, quietly.

“Te amo,” Aramis replied instantly.

“Yeah. It's the same word as Master,” Porthos said quietly.

Aramis considered for a moment and then tugged gently on Porthos' hair, tilting his head up so he could kiss him gently.

“Every time you call me your Master, no matter what language you say it in, no matter whether you whisper it to me as you fall asleep, no matter whether you're saying it through clenched teeth as I reprimand you, even if you're weeping it while I beat you... Every time you say it I hear you say you love me,” Aramis whispered.

Porthos kissed him back as fiercely as their awkward position allowed. Aramis moaned against his mouth and tightened his grip in the curls. His other hand moved up from Porthos' chest to cup his cheek even as he deepened the kiss, taking possession of his lover's mouth.

Porthos groaned against Aramis' invading tongue, welcoming him entirely. They'd had such a trying couple of days and here he was, alive and well under his hands. They were truly back together and nothing would stop Aramis taking what was his.

Even as the thought crossed his mind, a sharp pain shot through his most injured leg and he gasped in agony.

Aramis laughed and released Porthos' mouth, allowing him to roll away, flattening his head on the pillow again.

“You're a health hazard.. Master,” Porthos said, grinning despite the pain.

“Soy agradable,” Aramis replied lightly.

Porthos rolled his head and glared at the grinning face beside him.

“I'm going to sell you to the Spanish one day,” Porthos said.

“No tientes a la suerte,” Aramis said in a low voice, his eyebrows raised.

Porthos rolled his eyes but recognised the mildly warning tone, even if he didn't know the words.

“What **are** we going to do tomorrow?” Porthos asked, frowning.

“Rest, apparently,” Aramis answered as if disgusted by the idea.

“We'll have Athos to keep us company,” Porthos mused.

“Yes. That's true. We'll have Athos moping about wondering if d'Artagnan is safe,” Aramis sighed.

“We can quiz him about the lad, though,” Porthos pointed out.

“That's true!” Aramis exclaimed, brightening. “Few things in this world are as lovely or as rare as our Comte blushing.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for any dodgy Spanish translations. Especially to my adorable livia ;)


	52. Chapter 52

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos and d'Artagnan retire early.

“I didn't mean for you to go in my stead,” Athos said quietly, closing the door to his and d'Artagnan's room.

“I know,” the Gascon answered, smiling. “I am the least injured, though.”

Athos frowned at him and d'Artagnan sauntered closer, taking the older man's hands in his own. He lifted them to his mouth and kissed them in turn.

“I will return safely. I will be with the Captain, remember.”

Athos nodded and the two of them began stripping their weapons and doublets off. Athos removed his scarf and frowned at the strip of cloth in his hands. He walked to where d'Artagnan was hanging his doublet up and he lay it over the same hook on the wall.

“Bring it back,” he said, nodding at the scarf.

D'Artagnan trailed his fingers over the material and smiled over his shoulder at Athos.

“Don't let the Captain see you wearing it,” he added as an afterthought.

D'Artagnan moved into Athos' personal space and helped him remove his own jacket, tossing it carelessly onto a nearby chair.

Athos' arms encircled d'Artagnan, not around his waist like they normally did but much lower. His hands settled on d'Artagnan's buttocks, squeezing the firm muscle through his breeches and pulling them tightly together.

“Mmmm, we're making the most of the time before sunrise?” d'Artagnan asked.

“Well if my boy is going to be up early, I need to make sure he sleeps particularly soundly,” Athos murmured softly.

D'Artagnan couldn't stop the small moan that came to his lips as Athos' words sent a wave of heat over his entire body.

“Oh Papa,” he breathed, his own hands settling nervously on Athos' hips.

“What does my boy want?” Athos asked, walking backwards, pulling d'Artagnan with him.

“I... I don't know,” he answered timidly.

D'Artagnan was still getting used to being so intimate. It seemed all of Athos' distance was just a guard and he was actually rather aggressive when it came to acting upon his desires.

Athos groaned appreciatively at the Gascon's indecision and continued backwards until he bumped up against the bed. He sat heavily without releasing d'Artagnan. He simply parted his legs and pulled him closer.

D'Artagnan felt a hot wave of embarrassment at Athos' face being so close to his groin. At Athos' first touch he had begun to harden and yet with him right there... He squeezed his eyes closed and fluttered his hands uselessly in mid-air.

“Remove your shirt,” said Athos softly.

D'Artagnan rushed to comply but gasped in surprise as Athos' sure fingers quickly began to undo the laces on his breeches. D'Artagnan dropped his shirt to the floor beside him, gasping again as Athos deftly undid the laces on d'Artagnan's small clothes as well.

“Oh God. Athos,” he gasped, swaying slightly as the Musketeer didn't even pause, simply pushing both garments down over his hips to the floor. A quick tap to each leg was all d'Artagnan needed to obediently step out of the pooled material and kick them backwards.

D'Artagnan screwed his eyes even tighter closed as he felt Athos' warm breath pass across his still hardening member.

“Oh God, please,” he moaned.

“Yes?” asked Athos, his hands settling on the man's hips, holding him firmly in place without hurting him.

“I don't know!” d'Artagnan laughed, his hands still fluttering.

“Perhaps it would help if you held your hands together behind your back?” Athos suggested.

D'Artagnan did as he was bid but felt a wave of arousal hit him like a punch to the gut as he realised this meant there was nothing distracting Athos from him. He imagined he could feel heat from Athos' gaze as he stared so fixedly at him.

“I've not even laid a finger on you,” marvelled Athos as d'Artagnan continued to thicken and harden under his scrutiny.

“I know!” exclaimed d'Artagnan, laughing nervously again.

“Maybe I should,” mused Athos.

“Oh yes. Yes please,” d'Artagnan whimpered.

He felt Athos' hand encircle him and he had to bite his lip to stifle the loud moan that the sensation caused. Athos was always so hot. His body just seemed to be naturally warmer so his hand around d'Artagnan's most sensitive place was bliss.

After only three firm strokes, d'Artagnan was fully hard and already swaying on his feet into Athos' movements. The hand still on his hip tightened and d'Artagnan spread his legs slightly to give himself better balance.

“So eager,” murmured Athos.

D'Artagnan didn't have enough spare concentration to be embarrassed by how his shift in position must have looked. When Athos had spoken, d'Artagnan had felt the barest tickle of hair against his cock and Athos' warm breath passed over him so close that he must be almost touching d'Artagnan.

“Please, please, please,” d'Artagnan chanted mindlessly.

This was a first for him. He'd only been with a couple of women and none of them had done this to him.

“Please what,” breathed Athos, leaning so close his lips brushed the head of d'Artagnan's cock.

“Oh God,” d'Artagnan moaned, feeling the contact. Athos still hadn't released his grips on d'Artagnan's member and hip, using his hands to keep the man steady.

“Please what?” Athos repeated, squeezing d'Artagnan's cock to get his attention.

“Please touch me,” d'Artagnan whimpered, his face heating under the words.

“I am touching you,” Athos pointed out, infuriatingly calm despite his lips brushing against the now moist head of d'Artagnan's length.

“Please, Papa. Please lay your mouth upon me,” he whispered.

Athos immediately wrapped his lips around d'Artagnan and sank his mouth almost halfway down his length. He tightened the hand on the man's hip as he gave a violent lurch of surprise. He smirked to himself as he began to slowly bob up and down on d'Artagnan. This was something he was quite good at if the others were anything to go by.

If d'Artagnan had thought the heat of Athos' hand was bliss, he didn't have a word for how his mouth felt. The heat was incredible and the wetness just made it all the more breathtaking. He was keeping his lips tight around him and it felt amazing.

His knees buckled slightly as Athos' tongue began to press hard against the underside of him and he almost fell when Athos drew his mouth almost completely off, swirled his tongue firmly around the head before sinking back upon him.

Athos removed his mouth entirely and laughed softly, stroking with his hand instead.

“Too much?” he asked quietly.

“Oh God!” cried d'Artagnan. “While standing, yes!”

Athos laughed again and pushed d'Artagnan back a step. Rising to his feet, he wrapped his arms tightly around the Gascon's naked body, holding him steady. Feeling his breathing slow, he turned them round and gently pressed d'Artagnan to sit on the bed.

The Gascon held his hand to his chest as Athos gracefully sank to his knees between d'Artagnan's legs.

The Musketeer looked up and gave him a sinful smile before immediately resuming his earlier motions, covering d'Artagnan's length with his mouth, a hand wrapped tightly around the base.

“Oh, oh,” murmured d'Artagnan, much calmer with a steady base beneath him.

“Hands,” Athos said quietly, drawing himself up and off d'Artagnan for a moment. He smiled to see the Gascon clasp his hands behind his back and resumed his task.

D'Artagnan quickly dissolved into small moans and whimpers. It was taking all of his concentration just to remain sitting upright. Every movement of that hot warmth around him was sensational and he could already feel a tightening in his stomach.

“Oh, oh, Athos,” he gasped, his hips rising of the bed outside of his control.

Sensing d'Artagnan's proximity to climax, Athos smiled around him and flicked his eyes up. The Gascon's face was slack and he was fidgeting constantly. Athos placed his hands gently on d'Artagnan's hips, holding him steady against the mattress and, with a smirk to himself, lowered his mouth entirely on d'Artagnan's length, pushing him into his own throat.

D'Artagnan's hips tried to lurch off the bed but were held in place by Athos' firm grip. He was completely unable to keep his hands in place and he leaned forwards to rest them on Athos' shoulders, gripping him hard to stay grounded. He lost all control when Athos swallowed around him and he felt his orgasm crash over him unexpectedly.

After swallowing down everything d'Artagnan could give, Athos slowly released him, inhaling sharply as he finally was able to draw breath through his nose. He fought down the shudder of relief in his body as he quickly used his tongue to clean d'Artagnan up.

He squeezed d'Artagnan's hips gently and chuckled softly around his softening member as the hands on his shoulders let go of their death grip. Gently letting go, Athos rose smoothly to his feet and tugged d'Artagnan forwards.

The younger man buried his face in Athos' stomach and whimpered breathlessly. His hands were picked up and placed around Athos' waist and he hugged him tightly, listening to another soft chuckle.

“That was... Thank you... I've never... That was...” he stammered, still getting himself under control.

“New?” Athos asked, softly. One hand was stroking d'Artagnan's bare back and the other was resting heavily on the back of his head.

“Yes,” d'Artagnan answered, nodding emphatically.

Athos didn't reply and just continued to stroke him quietly. The feel of d'Artagnan trusting him like this never failed to make his heart soar. He'd realised over the course of the afternoon that he didn't trust d'Artagnan as much as the man deserved. Even when he did finally tell him the thing he'd been holding, he had only been upset by the deceit, not the fact.

After a few minutes he felt d'Artagnan growing heavy against him.

“Can you stand?” he asked.

“Able but not willing,” d'Artagnan grumbled but Athos could feel his smile.

“Come on,” Athos murmured, stepping back and taking d'Artagnan by the hand.

He pulled him to his feet and walked them to the chairs off to one side. He sat d'Artagnan down, wrapping his own cloak around the man, before pulling the other chair close. Sitting down, he leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his knees to study d'Artagnan carefully.

“I am, from the depths of my heart, truly sorry for concealing the truth from you. It is something I keep exceptionally private and I feared how you would look at me,” Athos said quietly.

“Oh,” d'Artagnan began but stopped when Athos held a hand up.

Athos smiled to himself. It really was a handy trick he'd learned from Aramis, that.

“I understand that you accept this fact about me but it does not make up for the fact that I still hid something from you. I want to thank you for telling me how angry you are. I know it's not... It's important not to hide things from each other and I would not have you swallow your dismay just to save my feelings,” Athos said earnestly.

D'Artagnan didn't quite know what to say so he settled for burrowing his face into Athos' cloak and nodding.

“To that end, is there anything you would like to know?” Athos asked.

D'Artagnan blinked in surprise and lifted his head.

“Papa?” he asked, uncertainly.

Athos shook his head ruefully and stood up.

“Perhaps you aren't up to serious talk just yet my lovely boy,” he commented, pulling d'Artagnan gently to his feet.

He guided him to the bed and while the Gascon snuggled his way under the sheet, Athos stripped off. He realised that d'Artagnan was shyly watching him, his face mostly hidden by the sheet.

He had grown painfully aroused while tending to d'Artagnan but had calmed while trying to talk him. Seeing the shy yet hungry look in his eyes made Athos' desire come rushing back. Obligingly, he turned on the spot for d'Artagnan who responded by giggling and hiding his face.

Athos rolled his eyes affectionately and slid into bed beside the equally nude Gascon who was still concealing his face. He stretched out on his back, pulling d'Artagnan close until they were in their normal position with his head pillowed on Athos' chest.

“You seem overwhelmed again,” Athos remarked.

“I'm still not used to you being so... forwards,” d'Artagnan answered quietly.

Athos smiled. He could feel d'Artagnan's hand tracing a scar on his side. The fingers continued the line down, finding another thin scar on his hip and tracing that one, too.

“Does it bother you?” Athos asked.

“What?”

“My being so forwards,” Athos explained.

“Goodness, no. I enjoy it immensely. I'm just not used to... well you, I suppose,” d'Artagnan answered.

Athos dramatically threw the sheet off them both and settled one of his arms above and under his head, letting the other roam across d'Artagnan's back.

“Uh...”

“How eloquent,” Athos remarked. “You're adorable when you blush,” he added, seeing the colour rise in the other man's cheeks.

“You have surprised me,” d'Artagnan protested.

“You explored my back quite thoroughly. Now you have the opportunity to explore my front,” Athos said.

“You wish me to...” d'Artagnan trailed off, trying hard to keep his eyes averted from Athos' groin.

“No. No, my boy. I just accept that I am as yet unknown and I would like you to spend as long as you like getting... acquainted,” Athos said, smiling at him.

D'Artagnan pulled himself to sit upright but when Athos made to place his other arm under his head, he held his hand firmly in his own. Athos squeezed back reassuringly before relaxing entirely under d'Artagnan's gaze.

The Gascon chewed his lip nervously and rested his hesitant free hand on Athos' stomach. He glanced up at the Musketeer and received a nod of encouragement. Emboldened, he began to stroke his hand upwards, smoothing across the man's chest.

Athos had been right. This opportunity to grow acclimatised to Athos' body was just what he needed. As his fingers trailed over the hair on Athos' chest, d'Artagnan found himself considering how different it was to be with a man. A woman was all soft and curvy but Athos had the body of a soldier. He pressed his fingers against the planes on his chest and the flesh beneath was hard. Athos gave a contented sigh and d'Artagnan felt the muscles flex under his hand.

He let go of Athos' hand so both of his own could explore the solid lines of his body. He smoothed his hands in a matching pattern up over his collarbones and over his shoulders. As they moved up his outstretched arms, his fingers found a scar on his left bicep and he smiled softly.

Seeing Athos' body like this, he could already feel himself calming. While he had been with women before, Athos was something entirely new. This was a body that had worked hard. It was lean like d'Artagnan's own but the muscles were in different places.

He smoothed his hands down Athos' sides, fingers pressing against the ragged scar he found earlier.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Rapier,” Athos answered in a quiet voice.

D'Artagnan glanced up to see his eyes had closed. However used to his body d'Artagnan was becoming, it was still a shock to see Athos like this. Open, vulnerable, trusting and entirely relaxed.

“Aramis didn't stitch it?” d'Artagnan asked, dropping his own voice to a softer murmur.

“No. I let it heal on its own,” Athos replied.

“Didn't trust them?” d'Artagnan guessed.

“So perceptive, puppy. Indeed not,” Athos answered, smiling though not opening his eyes. “It was early in my days as a Musketeer and I was not willing to show weakness.”

D'Artagnan didn't reply and just continued his exploration across Athos' stomach. He smiled at the soft dip of flesh below his ribs and pressed against the hint of solid muscle beneath.

Athos couldn't stop himself from shifting as d'Artagnan's hands smoothed across his hips. He opened one eye to find that endearing smirk on the Gascon's face.

“I thought you just wanted me to spend time getting acquainted with you,” he murmured.

“I do. Your hands are quite the delight, though, and I am only human,” Athos replied, closing his eyes again.

“Would you keep your eyes closed, Sir?” d'Artagnan asked.

“Hmm. May I ask why?” Athos replied.

“Just... Harder to become nervous when you aren't looking at me,” d'Artagnan admitted.

“Kiss me first,” Athos whispered, a smile playing on his lips but still not opening his eyes.

His smile widened when he felt the increasingly familiar lips press against his own. He kissed d'Artagnan chastely, lingering slightly before breaking off gently and settling again.

D'Artagnan's weight shifted and Athos flexed his body, growing more comfortable on the bed as the hands resumed stroking across his hips. They moved lower and stroked the outsides of Athos' thighs, deceptively well muscled, hidden so well by his breeches normally.

The hands grew bolder as they moved up the front of his thighs, fingertips following the lines of his muscle. Athos continued to smile as the fingers weaved through the coarse hair between his legs. He was still mostly aroused and as d'Artagnan's fingers passed over him as light as a feather, Athos couldn't help sighing.

“I understand,” d'Artagnan murmured, pressing his fingers slightly harder.

“Hmm?”

“You could never be... submissive to me. I see that now. I... last night you pushed me to the point of facing my emotions. You took them from me and made them yours, made me give them to you,” d'Artagnan murmured, his fingers finally circling Athos.

“Mhmm,” Athos murmured, listening to the soft voice as equally soft touches were placed on his member.

“It must take a lot of... will to be so unwavering,” d'Artagnan continued. “I don't know that I could do that to you. Be harsh and immovable enough to push you.”

“I imagine you could if you needed. You were strong enough to strike me. You were strong enough to call them cowards to get through to them,” Athos argued, his voice only just above a sigh.

“That was just to clear theirs and your heads,” d'Artagnan said quietly, beginning to stroke him slowly, his other hand resting lightly on Athos' thigh.

“As was my course of action last night,” Athos replied, arching his hips into d'Artagnan's grasp for a moment. “I maintain, however, I would be unable to surrender my instinct to protect you enough to become another.”

D'Artagnan, unseen by Athos, smiled widely, the older man's words sending a wave of warmth through his body.

“I am somewhat grateful to hear so. The idea of... There's something off putting about the idea of being violent towards you,” d'Artagnan murmured.

“Do you consider it violence?” Athos asked calmly.

D'Artagnan considered the question for a moment but chuckled softly when a gentle but insistent flex of the hips beneath his hand got his attention. He resumed slowly stroking up and down Athos' now fully erect member.

“I haven't experienced it,” d'Artagnan said carefully.

“That wasn't my question,” Athos murmured.

“No,” the Gascon answered quickly. After a beat he spoke again. “Perhaps.”

“Mmmm. Talk to me about it,” Athos said, his voice still soft but increasingly unable to hide the desire in it as d'Artagnan's hand grew firmer.

“Well... It... The reason I am so... affected by the idea of you taking your hand to me is-”

“Be specific,” Athos instructed gently.

D'Artagnan sucked in a breath and felt his cheeks reddening. He watched Athos' face closely but there was no sign of him trying to open his eyes.

“I want so much for you to... spank me,” d'Artagnan said in a whisper. Athos' hips gave an involuntary flex at his words and the Gascon was surprised to feel a twitch in his own groin so soon after release.

“Why?” Athos asked.

“I want to be... your little boy,” he whispered. Another flex of Athos' hips followed. “I want the... the sensation. I like the idea of the pain. I like the idea of the... to be small. To be beaten. To be... dominated.”

At this Athos actually groaned softly when his hips pushed into d'Artagnan's hand. The younger man took his cue and began to speed up his hand, settling into a more purposeful rhythm.

“And you don't consider it violence?” Athos asked.

“I suppose maybe that's part of its appeal. To be... overpowered and... helpless,” d'Artagnan admitted.

This time when Athos groaned, d'Artagnan had to bite his lip to stop the same noise coming from his own lips as his own arousal grew again.

“Part?” Athos prompted.

D'Artagnan whimpered at this question and it took more willpower than Athos thought he possessed not to open his eyes.

“The... position. The...” d'Artagnan was beyond words and was concentrating on his hand's motions on Athos too much to find the will to expose himself in this way.

“The shame?” Athos whispered.

This time Athos heard d'Artagnan's small moan and had to open his eyes. The sight that greeted him was beautiful.

D'Artagnan's face was a beautiful shade of red and there was a sheen of sweat over it. He was hunched over slightly, staring intently at his hand on Athos' cock, the concentration in his eyes was close to worship. His other hand was now resting on his own thigh, clenched tightly in a fist. Athos found his eyes drawn to the semi-erection in d'Artagnan's lap.

He noticed Athos staring and he whimpered, even as another spike of arousal shot to his hardening member. The knowing smirk on Athos' face was just intoxicating.

“Well?” the Musketeer prompted, his eyes dark with arousal.

“Yes, Papa,” d'Artagnan breathed. “The shame. I... It appeals to me.”

“Why?” Athos asked, his voice hardening.

“I like... I want... I want to be punished for being...” he trailed off, growing light headed with arousal and humiliation.

“For being...” Athos pressed.

D'Artagnan closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing even as his hands began to tremble, the stroking motion on Athos, forgotten.

“Look at me,” Athos insisted.

D'Artagnan whimpered and forced himself to meet Athos' piercing blue eyes. He hadn't felt so vulnerable in all his life, despite Athos being stretched out under his hands.

“What do you want to be punished for?” Athos asked quietly.

“For being dirty,” d'Artagnan whispered.

Athos sat up in one swift motion and wrapped his arms around d'Artagnan's body. He kissed him fiercely, one of his hands tangling in the dark hair and holding his head still.

D'Artagnan whimpered and let his mouth fall open, moaning softly as Athos took full advantage. His kiss was aggressive and demanding and d'Artagnan was sure he was going to find his lips bruised.

Without warning, Athos flipped them sideways and lay d'Artagnan out on his back. He settled onto his knees, straddling the Gascon's thighs.

“Show me,” Athos demanded in his soft, hypnotic voice.

D'Artagnan whimpered and shook his head emphatically. Athos just smiled wolfishly and began to stroke himself, watching the way d'Artagnan was mesmerised by the motion. He shrugged nonchalantly and continued to stroke himself while staring heatedly at the man beneath him.

It was less than a minute before the sight of Athos stroking himself was more than the Gascon could stand and he wrapped a shaking hand around himself. Two quick strokes and he also was fully hard.

Athos nodded approvingly, his expression softening for a moment and d'Artagnan took a breath, calming slightly. He couldn't stop the spinning sensation in his head that Athos' hungry stare was causing.

“Dirty boy,” Athos whispered and delighted in the shameful moan it dragged from the man beneath him.

“Yes Papa,” moaned d'Artagnan quietly, closing his eyes.

“Look at me. Don't hide from me,” Athos insisted gently.

D'Artagnan bit his lip and nodded, forcing his eyes back to Athos. At an encouraging nod from Athos, he began to stroke himself regularly, way past the need for slow ministrations.

“Do you trust me, my boy?” Athos asked softly.

“Yes Papa,” d'Artagnan answered immediately, nodding.

Athos removed his hand from himself but gestured for d'Artagnan to continue on his own length. He moved slightly lower down d'Artagnan's body and encouraged his legs to part.

“Oh God,” the Gascon moaned, realising at least some of Athos' intentions.

“Shh. Just tell me if you want to stop,” Athos whispered, leaning over and pressing a gentle kiss to d'Artagnan's forehead.

Unseen by the younger man, Athos had gathered the moisture from his own cock onto his finger and he began gently massaging d'Artagnan's entrance. He had intended to make this much more teasing but he could see from d'Artagnan's hand upon himself that regardless of his earlier climax, the man was beyond teasing now.

All Athos did for several long minutes was just circle and press against d'Artagnan. He began to make it a rhythm, applying slightly more pressure each time.

“Oh please, please,” d'Artagnan moaned.

Athos decided to take a risk.

“Please what?” he murmured.

“Please Papa,” d'Artagnan moaned.

“Please what?” Athos repeated, pressing harder but still not quite breaching him.

“Please... Oh God... Please... Please put your finger inside me, Papa,” d'Artagnan begged.

His entire body prickled in humiliation but even as he said the words his cock throbbed in his hand, arousal driving him even higher and higher. When Athos' finger finally entered him, he had to clamp his free hand down over his mouth to stifle the loud cry it caused.

“Shh, shh. Relax. Come back to me, my boy. Shh,” Athos soothed, holding his finger entirely still.

D'Artagnan nodded and settled down. The sensation was uncomfortable but not unpleasant. He couldn't deny the incredibly dirty feeling it had, having Athos invading him like this.

He slowed the stroking on his length while he got used to the feeling. Just as it began to be comfortable, Athos began to move his finger in and out and d'Artagnan's hips arched suddenly off the bed. After a second he pressed back down against the digit as all his nerves seemed to be on fire.

“That's it, dirty boy. Show me how dirty you are. Have you thought about me doing this to you?” Athos asked.

“Oh God! Yes, Papa. Yes!” d'Artagnan cried through his hand, the sound coming out muffled.

Athos was grateful for the hand over the man's mouth as one hand was very occupied between d'Artagnan's legs and the other was firmly wrapped around himself. The Gascon's hand was growing faster and faster upon himself and Athos could feel himself getting closer as well.

Athos, having not taken a man before, was in slightly unknown territory but his experience at the ridiculously talented hands of his friends meant he knew roughly where he was looking. As he felt his body tightening and preparing for release he curled his finger forward experimentally.

After a few more strokes he found what he was looking for as his fingers brushed across a small bulb. D'Artagnan all but screamed into his hand as he found release. Groaning in satisfaction, he quickly stroked himself towards orgasm and as d'Artagnan's muscles continued to flex uncontrollably around him, he, too, reached climax, spilling over d'Artagnan's stomach, his spend mixing with his lover's.

He removed his hand from d'Artagnan and stumbled to his feet. He chuckled at soft whine from behind him as he located a cloth. Returning he found d'Artagnan still panting and Athos' eyes were drawn to the mixed spend on his tanned stomach.

Athos surreptitiously cleaned his hand before cleaning his own groin, smirking slightly as d'Artagnan watched closely. He held his hand out for the Gascon's and cleaned his hand gently before pressing a kiss to the back of it.

He made quick work of cleaning up d'Artagnan's stomach and groin before dropping the cloth carelessly onto the floor and sitting on the mattress beside d'Artagnan. Athos chuckled quietly as d'Artagnan tried to press against him while he was still gathering the previously discarded sheet.

“Shh, shh. It's OK little one, I'm here,” Athos soothed as he finally lay down and found d'Artagnan almost climbing on top of him.

He was slightly startled to feel d'Artagnan shaking slightly but just held him a little tighter. The Gascon had sprawled on his stomach almost entirely on top of Athos and had settled one of his legs between Athos', twining them together.

“Sorry,” d'Artagnan mumbled.

“Are you alright?” Athos asked stroking the man's back.

“I'm fine,” nodded d'Artagnan, slightly breathless. “Just got a bit overwhelmed and struggled with you being far from me.”

Athos nodded in understanding and pressed a kiss to the top of d'Artagnan's head. He should have waited to do clean up. He'd know for next time.

“That was... intense,” d'Artagnan mumbled against Athos' chest.

“I agree,” the Musketeer murmured.

“I didn't think I could... twice?”

Athos chuckled softly and pressed another kiss into the black hair.

“The joys of youth,” he teased.

“Then I will make it my mission in life to prove you are younger than you believe,” d'Artagnan said, the grin evident in his voice.

“How ambitious,” Athos remarked. “It's my mission in life to have you in my rooms with a freshly reddened, well fucked bottom, begging me to make you spend with no other touch than my cock inside you,” he added nonchalantly.

A shudder ran through d'Artagnan and he pressed himself closer to Athos' body, squirming slightly. The older man laughed and stroked a hand soothingly up and down the soft skin on his back.

They remained like that in a blissful silence for long, long minutes. Athos could feel d'Artagnan growing heavy against him but knew he wasn't actually asleep.

“Athos?”

“Mmm?” hummed Athos, toying with d'Artagnan's hair.

“Being honest... How often does it turn to sex after you... they...”

“After such a discipline session? Most of the time, in truth. They're separate things, though,” he answered honestly.

D'Artagnan nuzzled Athos' chest slightly.

“Would it lack something if that... If it didn't any longer?” he asked quietly.

“I'm not sure. It's only been a couple of years we've been doing it. Probably only once a month on average. I think... It provides me comfort and a measure of... healing,” Athos said quietly.

“You need healing?” d'Artagnan asked.

“I have to sacrifice a lot of control and a lot of what makes me who I am to get to the place where I can fall to my knees. It helps me rise back up and stand on my feet again,” Athos explained.

“You're this forwards with them?”

“Perhaps not **this** forwards, no,” Athos teased, pressing another kiss to d'Artagnan's hair. “Aramis doesn't relax his hold on Porthos for anyone. Not even me.”

D'Artagnan chuckled softly and nuzzled against Athos' chest.

“I am, however, able to find my footing and my confidence again,” Athos added.

“When you don't have that reconnection, is it harder?”

Athos debated how to answer. He knew the man in his arms well enough to know that he would easily and voluntarily sacrifice his own comfort and happiness to allow Athos his but he also needed to know how d'Artagnan honestly felt about it.

“Yes,” he said finally.

“Possible?”

“Yes,” Athos said, nodding.

“Can you explain?” d'Artagnan asked stiffly.

Athos pressed a lingering kiss into the black hair. He was so grateful for the man's compassion and acceptance.

“On the times we have not reconnected that way it has been harder for me to pull myself together. They look after me so very well but it's so jarring to need to put myself together and return to my chambers or to wake up alone,” Athos explained.

There was another long silence while d'Artagnan absorbed the information and nuzzled against Athos' chest.

“Do they... Do they hold you?” d'Artagnan asked. There was only curiosity in his voice, not suspicion.

“Yes. I often feel... pulled apart by the raw emotion and their contact, their arms put me back together,” Athos answered.

D'Artagnan lifted his head and frowned slightly. There was something else in Athos' voice.

“Athos?”

“The reason it is so difficult when we aren't intimate is that they can't... I cannot fall asleep in their arms,” Athos said, trying to be delicate.

“Why not? You said they hold you,” d'Artagnan said quietly.

“As I said, Aramis doesn't release his hold on Porthos for anyone and certainly not in his own home. He has an absolute rule that Porthos sleeps in their bed without a stitch on,” Athos explained.

“Ah. So when they take you into your bed, even if with the intention to only comfort you...” d'Artagnan trailed off.

“We're only men,” Athos whispered.

D'Artagnan took a deep breath.

“So if I asked you to confine your activities with them to just the... non-sexual... they might cease to provide the same level of healing?”

“I cannot answer that. I wish to tell you I do not need them and that I do not desire them but I cannot do so,” Athos answered honestly.

“Thank you for being honest. I don't... It's a lot to take in,” d'Artagnan answered.

Athos pressed another kiss into d'Artagnan's hair and inhaled deeply.

“You should get some sleep,” Athos said quietly, glancing at the window where the sun had now set completely. Only the light from a well placed torch outside illuminated their room.

“You won't brood while I'm away, will you?” d'Artagnan asked.

“Hmm?”

“You need to remain strong for them and when I return with the Captain, I can support you. You mustn't wallow, though. We've had the conversation about Porthos being so protective of Aramis. I'm the same of you, Athos. I didn't leave you when you told me to at the house. I won't do so now,” d'Artagnan said earnestly.

Athos stroked his hand up and down d'Artagnan's back in gratitude.

“I will try, puppy. I will try.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beloved Porthamis are too injured to get it on so these two indulged me :D


	53. Chapter 53

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I can't stop writing Portamis <3

It was a subdued Athos that brought Aramis and Porthos their breakfast the next morning. He'd seen d'Artagnan and the Captain off at sunrise, with the expectation they'd be returning after no longer than three days, with or without the Marquis de Senneccey.

“How'd it go?” asked Aramis.

“Absolutely fine,” Athos answered. “They're both on Musketeer steeds so they should reach Macon tonight.”

He looked up when Aramis made an undignified scoffing noise.

“He means the talk,” Porthos explained.

“The talk?”

“Between you and the lad. You obviously spoke about us and the pain,” Porthos said, turning to feed the gruel to Aramis. They were both much less self conscious with just Athos.

“I did. I think he honestly wants me to continue because of the benefit it provides but... he doesn't like that we're intimate afterwards,” Athos relayed.

“We don't have to be,” Porthos said, frowning.

“Nobody can lie in bed with you as bare as nature intended without getting close to you, mi vida,” Aramis interjected.

Porthos laughed.

“Then on those nights I'll just have to keep my clothes on,” he said, shrugging.

“No,” Aramis said around a mouthful of food.

“Oh c'mon Sire. If Athos needs it-” he stopped abruptly when Aramis raised a hand. Athos' lip twitched, hiding a smile.

“Athos knows full well he takes us as we are or not at all,” Aramis said firmly.

“He's right,” Athos said quietly. “I knew of this rule from day one. I am an addition to your life and I don't ask you to adjust for me.”

“See, mi vida. You're outnumbered,” Aramis said lightly.

Porthos rolled his eyes and shoved the spoon in his owner's mouth to shut him up, getting him a playful glare in return.

“So what do you plan to do?” Porthos asked, turning back to Athos.

“I don't know. I honestly don't know. I certainly don't wish to give up the relief you provide but I can't bear to hurt him and I think laying with you would,” Athos answered.

Aramis waved Porthos away, indicating he was finished and frowned at Athos who was staring into space.

“Do you think it would hurt you to experience it without our comfort?” Aramis asked, shrewdly.

“Yes,” Athos answered honestly.

“Then what do you plan to do?” Aramis pressed.

“I honestly don't know. I can't... This isn't going to be fixed in one or two or even ten conversations. I can't just close down on this one. If I'm not... Honesty is key from both myself and him.”

“And us,” said Aramis quietly.

Athos' head shot up and he looked between the two of them. Porthos was refusing to meet his eyes, having seemingly found something remarkably interesting in the bottom of his bowl.

“Aramis?” he prompted.

“We remember what it was like before you opened up to us. The idea of you losing whatever avenue of healthy expression we provide scares us a little,” Aramis said.

“We love you,” Porthos said quietly.

“And I love you both. I just... I can't hurt him, gentlemen,” Athos said, frowning.

“You love him,” Aramis said gently.

“Yes. I think I do,” Athos admitted with a sigh.

They sat in silence for a few minutes while Porthos finished eating. Leaning across Aramis to put the bowl down, Porthos grinned at Athos.

“So. How **are** things going?” he teased.

“Hm?” Athos asked, looking up.

“How much progress have you made?” Aramis asked, his eyebrows wiggling.

“A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell,” Athos murmured.

“I think a gentleman just did!” Aramis said, laughing.

“You will get no more out of me. Suffice to say that he and I are enjoying our time together and have developed a definite relationship,” Athos said, inclining his head.

“A physical relationship? More than quick fumbles around a campsite or soiling our sheets?” Aramis teased.

“We are enjoying our time together and have developed a definite relationship,” Athos repeated, smirking slightly.

Athos didn't reply and just stood to pour Aramis some water.

“Aww. You're no fun,” Aramis complained, taking the glass and sipping from it obediently

“I'm here to look after you, not entertain you,” Athos replied.

“But our minds will waste away,” Aramis wailed dramatically.

“S'true. We'll go mad. Just staring at the ceiling all day,” Porthos agreed.

“So lonely,” Aramis put in.

“Bored,” Porthos added.

“Hurrrt,” whined Aramis.

“So hurt,” nodded Porthos.

“Alright!” cried Athos, holding his hands up in surrender. “I do hate it when you do that.”

“Do what?” they asked in chorus.

Athos laughed. One of the rare proper, loud laughs they only got from him occasionally.

“It's like talking to one person with two mouths,” Athos explained.

“So Father. What **are** we going to do today?” Aramis asked.

“You must stop calling me that,” Athos said, rolling his eyes.

“Why?” Aramis murmured curiously.

Athos narrowed his eyes and Aramis laughed loudly.

“What would you normally do on your day off together?” asked Athos, purposefully ignoring Aramis' reaction.

“All things we can't do,” Porthos grumbled.

“Go for a ride, go for a long walk,” Aramis sighed.

“Month before last I fixed the shutters in your room,” put in Porthos.

“Even when we were trapped inside with you two we could all at least exercise,” Aramis huffed.

Athos frowned for a moment, considering the men before him.

“Exercise it is, then,” he declared.

  
  


After much careful experimenting, Athos managed to put them both through a set of exercises that if not getting them out of breath at least strained them slightly.

Porthos was able to exercise his upper body quite easily although he was grumbling about the lack of resistance in his stretches. He did, however, stop when a particularly ambitious twist on his midsection pulled at his thighs. The frown from Aramis his pained groan caused was enough to stop him trying that again.

Aramis was trickier being that most exercises at least pulled on his lower stomach. With a little help from Athos, though, he was at least able to trick his legs into thinking they were being exercised. Athos had laid his hands against Aramis' feet and was holding them steady while Aramis made a cycling motion in the air.

“I've seen this done to babies,” Aramis grumbled.

“Indeed. They're unable to sit up and so are you, currently,” Athos said, shrugging.

“It's so undignified,” Aramis complained.

“Aw c'mon, Sire. You've seen us two in much worse positions. At least you aren't a sobbing mess on the floor like we end up at your hands,” Porthos replied.

Aramis laughed and nodded. He pulled his legs away from Athos who let them drop.

“So true, mi vida. Although I don't believe we've ever actually made Athos cry.”

“Not yet,” smirked Porthos.

Athos frowned at this.

“You don't think it will happen?” Aramis asked, shrewdly.

“We were getting so close,” Porthos said quietly.

It had been a vague aim of theirs for two years, ever since Athos had made his request for them to hurt them. It was designed to be emotional release but Athos had never yet broken down entirely with them. He'd come close on several occasions but hadn't yet been able to let go of that particular defence. It had moved beyond emotional release entirely and had become a goal for all three of them.

“I know. I really wanted... I just don't know if d'Artagnan... I don't know what's going to happen there,” Athos said, sighing. “I don't want to talk about it. I know what I want to happen in an ideal world but reality is another thing entirely.”

Porthos and Aramis looked sadly at him. It pained them to think of their brother and best friend possibly having to deny himself something that was doing such good. On the other hand, though, they entirely understood his desire to keep d'Artagnan's heart safe.

“I think I should have a short siesta,” Aramis said, avoiding their eyes.

It cost the man a lot to admit he was still significantly injured and however limited the exercise had been, he had become distinctly tired.

“Of course. I would say noon is only about an hour away so I shall try and find us some lunch and bring it to you,” Athos said quietly.

As Athos closed the door, Porthos shifted himself down in the bed to lay beside Aramis.

“Porthos?”

“Yeah, Sire?”

“You won't give up without me, will you?”

Porthos didn't reply for a few minutes. He stared up at the ceiling and tried to come up with an answer. While he was unable to lie to Aramis, he couldn't bring himself to pile more guilt onto him.

The slighter man smiled sadly, seeing his struggle.

"Porthos?" he murmured quietly.

“You're the one who told me you intended to... after Poitiers,” Porthos said, defensively.

“I was wrong,” Aramis replied.

“Maybe I will be, too,” Porthos shrugged.

“You made me a promise,” Aramis said frowning. His fingers strayed to the strap on Porthos' wrist.

“Yeah well I think you death releases me from your service,” Porthos muttered.

“Porthos,” Aramis said, sharply.

The larger man grunted before reluctantly meeting Aramis' eyes.

“Think again,” Aramis snapped.

Porthos looked back at the ceiling.

“You listen to me,” Aramis said angrily. “If you think I put years and years of work into the love of my life to have it snuffed out the instant I am not there, you are sorely mistaken. You are the best thing in my life and you are the thing I am the most proud of. If this should be my end, I leave the world knowing I leave behind the best man I have ever met and I gladly take credit for some of his virtues.”

Porthos stared, open-mouthed at him.

“Yes. I take credit for you. The way you open up to me. The way you recognise and deal with your feelings. How unashamed you are now of your sensitivity. They're changes in you and for them, I take some of the credit. You have made changes to me. I value myself far more highly now. I am less quick to anger. I trust myself. You have made me the man I am today, just as I have you. If you think I did all of that to have you collapse without me, you are so very wrong.”

Porthos swallowed hard and took several deep breaths.

“Sire.. I just... The idea of losing you...”

“Shh. I understand, my love. I understand. You have to stay strong for me, though. Live for me if I can't,” Aramis soothed, fingers finding the strap on Porthos' wrist again.

Porthos obligingly held his wrist out for Aramis and they both smiled.

“It's nice being able to see it,” Aramis murmured.

“It is. My leg feels so weird without it, though. It's such a part of me that I... well it's not that I don't notice, I guess I don't realise I'm noticing it?”

Aramis nodded and began undoing the buckle. Porthos tensed but resisted the urge to pull his hand away. Aramis smiled at him as he removed it. Holding it in one hand, he pulled Porthos' wrist to his mouth and kissed it gently. Without warning, he suddenly bit down.

Porthos yelped, surprised by the sudden attack and tried to pull his hand back but Aramis kept hold of it, his teeth firmly clamped down. Porthos whined as the pain increased and found, to his immense surprise, a sudden jolt of desire up and down his body. His plaintive whine morphed into a deep groan and he relaxed, even as the pain continued to increase.

Aramis' eyes flashed dangerously when Porthos met them. He pressed his teeth down further and felt the skin break. As he tasted blood, he finally released Porthos' arm and smirked. Watching Porthos cradle his injured wrist, there was no other word for Aramis' expression. He was smug.

“Ow,” muttered Porthos, examining the damage.

“Show me,” Aramis said quietly.

The two men examined the wrist. There were distinct and clear teeth marks on the top of Porthos' wrist and from the way he was shaking slightly, Aramis guessed the whole area was likely to bruise. Turning it over, Aramis felt a surge of satisfaction when two of the lines where his teeth had left indents were welling with blood.

“What was that for?” Porthos asked, curiously.

“Me,” Aramis shrugged.

He licked the spots of blood up and smirked again, hearing Porthos groan. He gently replaced the strap on his wrist, carefully arranging the leather to cover most of the marks. He was unable to cover the marks on the top of his wrist entirely but he pulled Porthos' shirt cuff down and was pleased to find it covered enough.

Porthos just stared at him the entire time. Tiny stabs of pain were still radiating through his arm and he was struggling not to let himself get aroused. More than either of those, though, it was the reassurance that Aramis was still Aramis. He was still mischievous, playful, unpredictable and deliciously cruel.

“Like marking what's mine,” Aramis mused, settling back into the pillows.

Porthos laughed and reached out to brush the hair out of his lover's eyes.

“Am I to take this as meaning **you** aren't giving up?” Porthos asked, his hand lingering on Aramis' face.

The marksman smiled and nuzzled slightly against Porthos' hand, turning into a clear nodding motion. Porthos smiled and pressed a kiss to Aramis' forehead.

"Rest now, mi sol," he murmured.

 


	54. Chapter 54

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The three Musketeers have lunch together

Aramis woke with a start, feeling Porthos' body jerk beside him.

“Porthos?” he asked groggily. “OK?”

“M'fine,” grunted the larger man.

“Legs?”

“Yeah. I keep trying to turn over,” Porthos grumbled.

“Oh!” Aramis exclaimed softly. “Hello, my friend.”

Porthos looked over in surprise to see Athos watching them silently. He nodded at their brother before pulling himself to sit upright.

“Didn't wish to wake you,” Athos said quietly, putting the book he'd been reading on the table.

“What time is it?” asked Porthos.

“Only an hour past noon. You did not sleep for long,” he answered.

“You seem pensive,” Aramis remarked. He chuckled lightly when Athos raised an eyebrow. “More than usual,” he clarified.

“I love him,” Athos said flatly.

“We noticed,” Aramis teased. He made a small gesture to Porthos who rearranged the pillows to sit Aramis up slightly.

“I don't know how,” Athos moaned, dropping his head into his hands.

“How to... what?” Aramis asked in concern.

“How to love him.”

“What do you mean?” Porthos asked, frowning.

“I haven't loved someone... I... You are the only people I have loved in years but you don't.... need me,” Athos said, looking up but away from them both.

“But before us?” asked Aramis gently.

“They... my family... my... she... people who rely me they... I failed them and... did so much damage,” Athos moaned, dropping his head into his hands again.

He didn't see the helpless glance Porthos and Aramis exchanged. Their friend had been drinking for the hours they'd been asleep. That much was clear. There was, however, also a disturbingly wild look in the normally calm eyes that was making them both nervous. When they'd managed to make Athos admit he loved d'Artagnan they had assumed it was going to ease some of the tension but it seemed, somehow, to have done more damage.

“Athos,” Porthos said quietly but when their friend raised his head enough to meet Porthos' eyes, he found himself unable to find any more words.

“What is it?” Aramis asked.

“Me,” moaned Athos. “Everything I touch... Everyone I let... The people who love me... They...”

“Athos,” Aramis said sharply.

Their friend looked at him with a somehow pleading look in his eyes.

“We love you. You love us. We're absolutely fine,” Aramis soothed.

“You don't... It's not the same.”

“Don't underestimate him Athos,” Porthos said quietly. A heavy silence followed the unexpected words.

“What do you mean?” asked Athos.

“You think that because he's younger or...” Porthos paused, struggling for words. “or less experienced that he isn't going to know how own mind.”

“It's not his age,” scoffed Athos, dismissing his brother's words.

Porthos grunted in frustration and looked at Aramis for help but it seemed he already understood.

“You think he's weaker because he acts submissive to you,” Aramis stated quietly.

“No I don't,” Athos mumbled but he looked away from them both again.

“Yeah. You do,” Porthos argued, his voice sad. “You aren't separating the... Athos. The trust and submission he shows you when you're alone is specific to you, brother. You. You inspired that desire in him and have created a safe space for him to show it.”

Athos turned and blinked in surprise at Porthos' earnest words. He turned to Aramis in confusion but the marksman was simply beaming up at Porthos with pride. While Porthos rarely made emotional speeches, Aramis knew from experience how devastating he could be when he cut to the heart of the matter.

“Don't sell 'im short,” Porthos continued. “He wouldn't have made it this far or fit in with us so well if he was the young, vulnerable whelp you keep trying to make him out as. Do you think I drop to my knees for just anyone?”

“I didn't say you did!” Athos protested in surprise.

“I share some of his instincts. In fact I probably have a much higher drive to obey than he does. Do you think me any less strong for it?” Porthos pressed. “You think I follow Aramis because he happened to pass? I don't belong to him because he's the only one offering leadership. I belong to him because he's the right person. He chose me to be his because he considers me worthy and I chose him for the same reason. Whatever submission and trust d'Artagnan is showing you is because you inspire it in him. You, Athos. You. You made this happen by being an honourable, kind and worthy man. Don't sell him short and assume he's latched on to you because of his own weakness.”

Athos nodded once to signal he'd heard Porthos' words and then brooded in silence for several long minutes.

Aramis smiled up at Porthos and silently mouthed the words 'I love you' at him. Porthos smiled and stroked Aramis' chest affectionately. The paler hand came up to grasp Porthos' and his thumb stroked firmly across the strap. He flashed a smirk up to Porthos when the larger man winced. They both looked back at Athos and patiently waited for him to be ready to talk.

“I'm not worthy of anyone,” he sighed.

“We chose you,” Aramis said gently. “Do you think I trust many people with Porthos? He is the most precious thing in the world to me and yet I've allowed him to be vulnerable with you.”

“We're just friends. You don't... rely on me,” Athos replied, shaking his head.

“OK honestly, my friend. What is this thing you have with people relying on you?” Aramis asked, his tone coloured by frustration.

“What's that quote you say about love? From that poem. About love,” Athos said, waving vaguely.

Aramis stared back blankly. He read a lot of poetry and talked about love all the time. He wasn't aware people, especially Athos, ever actually listened to him when he quoted lines from it.

“Love is giving someone the power to destroy you and trusting them not to,” Porthos recited. “It fits us,” he added, catching Aramis' surprised glance.

“Yes that,” Athos murmured. “I should not have that power over anyone.”

Aramis and Porthos exchanged another glance, unnoticed by Athos.

“You never told us what happened,” Aramis murmured.

“Nor will I. I'm not even sure... It's complicated. I will take what you said under advisement but I'm not sure I could... I love him,” Athos said miserably.

“You say that as though it's a bad thing, Athos.”

“Oh Aramis. It is,” he moaned. “My brother loved me... my... she loved me... It all ended... badly.”

“If you won't tell us, tell him. He deserves to know if it's going to hold you back from him. He loves you too, you know,” Aramis replied.

“More fool him,” Athos sighed, getting to his feet.

“Don't leave,” Aramis said quickly.

“I told Monsieur Mermot I would alert him when you were ready for food. I had assumed you would need feeding,” Athos said, his lips twitching reluctantly into a small smile.

Aramis nodded and Athos inclined his head and withdrew without another word.

“Idiot,” muttered Porthos as soon as the door shut behind him.

“I agree,” Aramis murmured sadly. “At least he's bringing us food. I could get used to this being served thing.”

“Am I just not enough for you any more?” Porthos teased.

“You don't bring me food on demand,” Aramis shrugged.

“If you demand food, I bring you food!”

“I **always** cook at home,” Aramis retorted.

“You like cooking! You said it was division of labour. You cook, I clean. I'll cook if you want. Serve you all your food in bed. Make sure you never have to lift a finger,” Porthos suggested.

Aramis visibly shuddered and Porthos laughed loudly.

“Trust me, mi vida. These few days of complete immobility have been plenty. I'm hoping that I'm given some exercises like you tomorrow. My back is surprisingly painful,” Aramis said.

“Yeah that happens. Remember when I was laid up? I got all those twinges above my hips?”

“Yeah,” Aramis murmured, distractedly. He'd started pressing gently on the bruising on his torso.

“You all right?” Porthos asked.

“I'm trying to work out what he felt. I can feel the broken ribs but everything else feels fine,” Aramis mused.

Porthos' hands joined Aramis' and he carefully pressed down on the bruising. Aramis moved his hands away and smiled as Porthos' deceptively gentle hands lightly palpated the area.

“I dunno, Sire. Doesn't it seem a bit harder down here to you?”

“Not with you pressing all the way up there, no,” Aramis smirked.

“Be'ave,” Porthos admonished playfully and pressed Aramis' fingers to the same place.

“Hmm. Maybe. Do you think... It's gone down, right? The bruising?” Aramis asked.

“I... I think so. I just don't want to get my hopes up, though. Maybe we've just gotten used to the sight of it,” Porthos said gently.

“it hurts less,” murmured Aramis.

“You do seem less tired. I mean beside the nap,” Porthos observed.

“We'll see, we'll see,” said Aramis quietly. He smiled sadly at the questioning look from Porthos. “While we aren't assuming I'm dying, let's not pretend it isn't a possibility.”

“Yes Sire,” Porthos said quietly.

He stroked his hand up from the bruising and across Aramis' chest to stroke his cheek. Aramis turned his face to kiss Porthos' palm. They sat quietly together for a few minutes until Athos returned with a small collection of bread, cheese and fruit. When Athos handed Porthos his plate, his eyes narrowed as the darker man winced slightly.

“Porthos?” he asked quietly.

“S'nothing,” Porthos replied, smirking to himself and tugging his shirt sleeve down.

“You don't need to hide that strap from me,” Athos said, tilting his head.

Aramis snorted with laughter and Athos' frown deepened.

“Gentlemen?” he prompted

Aramis made a gesture at Porthos who sighed. He rested his plate on his lap and pulled his cuff back to reveal the strap. Athos looked at it and flicked his eyes up to Porthos expectantly.

“I've seen it before,” he said.

Aramis snorted again and Athos turned his gaze back to the proffered wrist. This time he noticed the slowly growing bruise peeking out from under the strap.

“May I?” he asked.

Receiving a nod from both, however reluctant on Porthos' part, Athos took Porthos' hand in his and examined the wrist more carefully. In deference to Aramis, he did not move the strap whatsoever but he did turn Porthos' wrist this way and that and, familiar with Aramis' handiwork, was able to recognise it as a large, somewhat savage, bite mark.

“Not very discrete,” he murmured quietly, replacing Porthos' shirt cuff and letting go.

“We have two, maybe three, days before d'Artagnan and the Captain return. By then it will have faded some,” Aramis shrugged.

“Am I to take it that means the strap is remaining there until it has faded, at least beyond recognition?” Athos asked.

“Oh no. That will be going back as soon as it's able. It's on my list of questions for tomorrow,” Aramis replied.

“Then how do you intend to keep it out of sight when our companions **do** return?”

“Skill, dexterity and not a little luck,” Aramis teased, winking roguishly.

“Aramis,” Athos said disapprovingly.

“I know, I know. I'm somewhat limited, however, in how I can.. express my affection,” he replied, still smirking.

“Affection?” Athos repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh come now, friend. Are you honestly saying you do not think of me with affection when you feel cane marks upon your thighs?” Aramis teased.

Porthos barked out a laugh and held his hand up apologetically when both of his brothers gave him a scathing glance.

“I do. I do,” Athos said reluctantly.

A comfortable silence fell over them as they all shared their meal. After a while, the three of them put their plates down and at the same moment, Aramis and Athos both attempted to speak.

“Athos, I-”

“Gentleme-”

They chuckled slightly and Athos held his hand out to encourage Aramis to go ahead.

“This is awkward, Athos,” Aramis began, knowing there was no way Athos would speak first. “I want to know that if we do receive the news we don't wish tomorrow that Porthos will be taken care of.”

“Sire,” Porthos protested faintly but was ignored by both of them.

“He will, Aramis. By all of us. However, I assume you would like some sort of reassurance that I can provide a level of care in a similar way you do?”

“I would,” Aramis replied, nodding.

“I think you underestimate his ability to take care of himself,” Athos said carefully.

“I think you underestimate his ability to obey my directives after I die,” Aramis replied harshly.

“Sire,” Porthos repeated, clearly upset.

“Porthos,” Aramis said warningly and Porthos immediately quieted.

“Please explain,” Athos said, not unfamiliar with Aramis shutting Porthos down like this when he wanted to talk **about** him rather than **to** him.

“I have instructed Porthos to take care of himself if I should pass but I am well aware of the place I hold in his life. I am essential to him, as he is to me. To have his... to have me taken from him will leave a significant void in his life, one that sheer will alone may not be able to fill.”

Athos nodded and remained silent for a few minutes.

“You wish for me to check on him on occasion to ensure he is following your orders to look after himself?” Athos asked.

“Yes. Much in the way one would check in on a woman whose husband had died but-”

Aramis' next words were stopped by a frustrated snort from Porthos. He turned his head slowly to regard Porthos. For several long, silent seconds he stared up at Porthos who grew steadily uncomfortable.

“I'm sorry Sire,” Porthos whispered. Aramis nodded once before turning back to Athos.

“Much in the way one would check in on a woman whose husband had died but with an air of authority. It is not just for his well-being that he must continue to thrive but for my own designs. Without me there to continue to push him onto my path, he may, on occasion, need your help,” Aramis explained.

“I don't know how welcome my authority would be. It is as Porthos says. He chose you. He didn't choose me. I cannot make a promise to you that I will continue to see your will done if Porthos doesn't accept it,” Athos said slowly.

“I understand. As does Porthos, since he does have ears and is able to fully understand my intent,” Aramis replied. He didn't turn so was unable to see the reluctant nod from Porthos. “I ask only that in your role as his friend and brother you bear the additional burden of being at least slightly responsible for his obedience to this directive in my absence.”

“Porthos? Is that something you feel able to accept?” Athos asked. He winced slightly at the fact that Porthos raised his eyebrows and received a nod from Aramis before answering. However much he understood their relationship, some of it was still foreign to him.

“Not... I'm sorry, Sire but not in that way, no. I can't imagine ever... Giving anyone else your... my authority. I can't say I'll ever accept that, Sire,” Porthos mumbled. Seeing Aramis' frown, he quickly explained. “You're special, Sire. I kneel for the person you are, not just your ability to be dominant. I do, however, accept that I might respond better to Athos reminding me to follow **your** orders than I would just being mothered.”

“I can accept that, mi vida," Aramis said slowly. "Athos?"

"Should the worst happen I believe this arrangement will work for all. I will endeavour to make sure Porthos remains well in accordance with your wishes," Athos said quietly.

"Thanks," Porthos said gruffly, still struggling with the idea of someone else being able to admonish him.

"Yes. Thank you, my friend," Aramis said earnestly. He turned back to look up at Porthos. "I'm sorry for trying to... give you to someone else. I just... I want you to be looked after," he added with a small smile.

Athos watched the two of them. The tenderness and unspoken words in their expressions was breathtaking. He patiently waited for them to finish whatever it was they saying without speaking, content to simply watch their eyes flicker between each other's.

He wasn't sure if it was a level of intimacy he'd ever reach with someone. Even with Anne... No. He mustn't think of her. D'Artagnan was the only person who knew about her and it had to stay that way. Did that mean he was more intimate with d'Artagnan than the others? While he didn't want anyone else to know and had sworn the Gascon to secrecy, he found he didn't mind the man knowing. It was comforting that someone knew a bit of his past and understood at least some of why he was so reluctant to get close to anyone.

Would he understand, then, why Athos couldn't let d'Artagnan fall in love with him? It was dangerous enough that Athos had let himself do so. He knew, better than most, how inescapable love could be. Even finding out the worst of someone didn't stop you loving them. He couldn't let d'Artagnan become tied to him. He was a rock, pulling everyone down with him. He couldn't let bright, true, loving d'Artagnan be pulled under the water and drown.

D'Artagnan did know, however. He knew how much damage love could do having seen Athos that night at the house. He knew before most of this happened. That day... The day after he found out. He came to Athos. D'Artagnan sought **him** out. That was good, was it not? On the other, more likely hand, it was probably simple pity. That rang true. Athos was pitiful, after all. He closed his eyes and tried to stop the thoughts spinning through his head.

“Athos?”

Athos opened his eyes to find his brothers watching him in concern.

“Yes?” he asked, instantly schooling his features back into neutrality.

“Are you-” Aramis began but Porthos touched his shoulder and he stopped.

“What did you want to say?” Porthos asked quietly.

“I... I was going to suggest I take our dishes downstairs and bring up a backgammon board,” he said quickly.

Athos stood and collected their plates together, ignoring the disapproving frowns being aimed at him from the bed.

“Athos...” Aramis said quietly, trying again.

They weren't fools. They both recognised Athos closing emotions down. Whatever he was going to say was important but in the meantime, he'd gotten lost in his own head and wasn't going to speak to them.

“Gentlemen,” Athos said quietly, bowing as he left.

 


	55. Chapter 55

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The three inseparables spend the afternoon together and Athos manages to open up.

The afternoon passed well enough, although somewhat uncomfortably. Athos was still distracted but since he did not drink any more, he grew less melancholy and gradually relaxed with them again.

They'd balanced the game board on Aramis' stomach, much to his playful annoyance, and it was increasingly easy to forget their troubles. They'd always found it effortless to spend time together and eventually, even Athos' required assistance for the others to heed nature's call became a humorous affair instead of embarrassing.

Late in the evening, Athos again retrieved a meal for them and once they were all full, he leaned back in his chair, propping his boots up on the table.

“So Athos,” Aramis said unexpectedly.

“Yes?” he asked, instantly wary.

“What did you wish to speak about earlier?” Aramis asked.

Athos sighed but his contentment was too deep to make him close down entirely.

“I wanted to ask for your advice,” Athos said, looking away.

“About balancing d'Artagnan's need for honesty and monogamy against your own need for our relationship?” Aramis asked.

Athos gave a low chuckle. Aramis' ability to cut to the heart so easily of the matter was simultaneously infuriating and endearing.

“Indeed,” Athos murmured.

“I don't get it,” Porthos said abruptly. When the other looked at him he shrugged. “You guys have had conversations about him exploring things with Madame Bonacieux who's a married woman but you can't continue in an established and beneficial relationship with us?”

Athos stared at Porthos for long seconds before glancing back at Aramis who shrugged.

“Man has a point,” he said lightly.

Athos couldn't quite find the words to reply. Aramis was right. Porthos had a point.

“He hasn't actually said no,” Athos replied inadequately.

“Yet you act as if he has. We're not stupid,” Aramis said. “You're assuming that what we have is over and done with. You speak as though we're your past.”

“Let me ask you a question, then,” Athos said, suddenly angry.

Aramis blinked in surprise at his tone before nodding his assent.

“What do you want me to do? What do you think I should do? You think I should forsake d'Artagnan and continue hopping in and out bed with you two?”

“Is that all you see us as? Bed hopping?” Aramis asked, hurt clear in his tone.

“We do not love each other in that way. We are brothers, we're in each other's hearts, we share affection, intimacy and I trust you more than any other. We have gone over this time and time again, however. I do not feel romantic love for you. Nor do you for, me,” Athos said, sighing.

It was true. Many times they had lain together the topic of sex without love had come up. Aramis was, however much he protested otherwise, not a stranger to the concept and after some trial and error, they'd settled into their current relationship. They were, as Athos had said, affectionate and considerate in their touches but love didn't enter it.

“But we don't... How will you meet the needs we can without danger to you?” Aramis asked quietly.

“Enough. Please. What do you want from me? Answer me that brothers,” Athos sighed.

“Well I can't honestly say that we would not miss your presence in our bed. You are an attractive, magnetic and alluring man and I cannot deny that we both desire you,” Aramis answered honestly.

“You desire each other plenty,” Athos muttered.

“You are correct, my friend, but we do not desire you from lack of passion between us. It is all your doing,” Aramis teased.

Athos frowned disapprovingly at him, not appreciating the ribbing at this juncture.

“He means it,” Porthos said quietly, recognising the disbelief in Athos' face. “We want you because you're gorgeous.”

Aramis smiled and continued speaking before Athos could argue.

“You also add an interesting dimension to our own activities. I trust no other with Porthos and I very much enjoy showing him off to you. You also give us a unique opportunity to work together,” Aramis said quietly.

“It's not quite so noble as you make out then?” Athos sneered, uncharacteristically unkind.

“We don't want to lose our place in your life,” Porthos said bluntly.

Athos couldn't hide being startled by these words. He'd thought they just selfishly wanted to keep him in their bed for their own variety.

“That made an impact,” Aramis remarked.

“I didn't realise... I'm not...” stammered Athos before falling silent and staring into his own lap.

“You didn't realise we value you highly enough to consider your separation from us as a loss,” Porthos said softly.

Athos nodded without looking up.

“However shallow you think our relationship with you is, being physical without romance, please don't doubt how deeply we feel for you,” Aramis said quietly. “It might not be the same kind of love we have for each other or the love you have for d'Artagnan but it's there.”

“We will accept it if you decide it's best for everyone but know you'll be missed,” Porthos added.

Athos mumbled something they couldn't hear.

“Haveta be clearer than that,” Porthos prodded gently.

“I said I would miss you too,” Athos admitted.

“Then why...” Aramis asked, trailing off meaningfully.

“D'Artagnan is so much. He is... I love him,” he said, his tone sad.

“It's more,” Porthos supplied.

“It is. I hate to say it, my dear dear friends, but when I touch him, when I hold him... I can't give that up,” Athos said in a whisper. “If he chooses to pursue something more traditional and monogamous with Constance I will gladly step aside and watch him find love. Not to mention something less life threatening than if any of us were discovered. I can't give him up but I will gladly step aside should he choose for things to end.”

“I can understand that,” Aramis said slowly. “I did however warn you both that you are, despite appearances, the more vulnerable of the two of you.”

“Both of us?” Athos asked.

“Indeed. You know I warned you to protect yourself, which I am pleasantly surprised you have been able to do so without withdrawing entirely. I also told him not to make advances on you if he wasn't certain. I have faith in our Gascon that he is holding to that,” Aramis replied quietly.

“I believe so,” Athos agreed slowly.

“Then might I make a suggestion?” Aramis asked.

“Well I did come to you for advice,” Athos said, dryly.

“I would suggest not throwing us out with the bath water. I would recommend you spend these few days without d'Artagnan thinking of exactly how you envisage it working. If you wish us to be part of your life, then be honest with yourself and picture it,” Aramis said shrugging.

“We won't be a secret though,” Porthos said.

“Agreed,” Aramis put in. “We aren't willing to hurt him either and you told us if the three of us were to spend time together without his knowledge it would hurt him.”

Athos nodded and rubbed his hand across his face.

“Do you wish to discuss how you two are feeling about tomorrow?” Athos asked.

“No thank you,” Aramis answered, speaking for them both.

“I was intending to seek out the Doctor early tomorrow morning and encourage him to come here earlier rather than later,” Athos said.

“We would appreciate that,” Aramis replied quietly.

“Would you like me to stay tonight?” Athos asked.

“Not to dismiss the conversation we've all just had but no, thank you,” Aramis answered, smiling softly. “I would...”

“Like time alone with your life?” Athos said, standing.

“Indeed,” Aramis replied, having already turned his head to look up at Porthos.

“I will see you tomorrow my friends,” Athos said softly as he left.

“What are we going to do about him?” Porthos sighed into the quiet room.

“I don't know, my love. I think we have to wait and see what he decides to do. If d'Artagnan is providing the love and companionship we cannot then it would be utterly wrong of us to stand in their way,” Aramis mused.

“Can we... I dunno... Would we be able to talk to the lad? So he realises how important this is to us all?”

“Does that not come dangerously close to revealing certain confidences of Athos'?” Aramis asked.

“OK, Sire,” Porthos said thoughtfully.

“Oh no, mi vida. I meant it as a genuine question,” Aramis said quickly, smiling up at Porthos who had resumed stroking Aramis' chest. “Do you believe we'd be able to work out a way to talk to him without exposing Athos? I mean I **do** think it would be useful to back Athos up, as it were. You know as well as I do how he's inclined to let his own needs fall to the side without consideration.”

“I'd like us to find a way to do it. I mean I like d'Artagnan just fine but we gotta protect Athos,” Porthos said thoughtfully.

“Yes, I- Oh,” Aramis said softly, cutting himself off.

“Love?” prompted Porthos.

“You don't think he'll feel outnumbered and pressured, do you? Forced into agreeing?”

“Oh, yeah. I can see that,” Porthos said, frowning. “You mean we might accidentally push him into Athos' trap of accepting something that might hurt him to please someone else?”

“Perhaps yes, “ agreed Aramis. “He wants so much to be one of us. You heard him. He struggles with how close we are already. Faced with all three of us standing there telling him we want to keep sleeping with Athos. Do you think he would be entirely honest in how it would effect him?”

“We don't just want to sleep with him, Sire,” protested Porthos.

“I know. I know, mi vida. If that's what he thinks of us, though...”

“Ah. Yeah. Is he just going to roll over thinking it's a selfish desire to try and make us happy at his own expense?” Porthos mused. “Maybe you should talk to him alone.”

“I think it would better coming from you,” Aramis suggested, grinning up at Porthos.

“Sire. You can't just keep pushing him on me. We aren't the same,” Porthos admonished.

“No, you aren't. In this, though, you may be similar. You, too, love a man who spends time with others,” Aramis countered.

“Oh don't say it like that,” Porthos replied quietly. He continued stroking Aramis' chest, feeling the familiar hard flesh beneath his hand. “That makes it sound like you're unfaithful.”

“Do you not think that is some of how d'Artagnan is feeling? Perhaps not even knowingly but maybe that is one of his concerns? That he sees Athos' wish to continue with us as him being unfaithful,” Aramis murmured.

“Maybe but d'Artagnan has licence to pursue Constance, doesn't he? And she's actually married so he can't exactly claim the sanctity of...”

“Monogamy?” Aramis supplied. Porthos nodded. “Well let me put it to you another way, mi vida. Do you think all of d'Artagnan's fears of being cast aside have evaporated with one or two tumbles into bed with Athos?”

“I suppose not,” Porthos answered slowly.

“We can suggest it to Athos tomorrow. I can easily imagine, however, him refusing on the grounds of not wanting to upset our young friend. Shall we simply suggest it to d'Artagnan?” Aramis suggested.

Porthos' constantly moving hand stroked up Aramis' chest and cradled his cheek.

“Not without checking with Athos, Sire. It's not fair to talk about him without his knowledge and honestly... would you appreciate someone talking to me about something like this without you there?” Porthos asked.

Aramis closed his eyes as Porthos' dry, warm hand moved up and into his hair, pushing it back from his face.

“No, my boy. I wouldn't. He's not a possessive as me, though. Nor is he quite as determined to have his plans the only ones d'Artagnan follows,” he answered quietly.

“Unlike you,” Porthos asked, smirking.

“Quite unlike me,” Aramis agreed, smiling but not opening his eyes.

Porthos withdrew his hand and shifted in the bed to lay on his back beside Aramis.

“Know what I'm looking forwards to the most tomorrow?” Aramis asked, turning his head to face his lover.

“The good news?” Porthos guessed.

“No matter what happens, I will be able to stop laying on my back all day.”

“You will do whatever the Doctor tells you,” Porthos corrected. “You **hope** he will say you can lay on your side or at least sit up but if he doesn't, you won't, will you, Sire?”

“If it's good news then no. If it's bad news I will spend my remaining time the best way I can,” replied Aramis serenely.

Porthos made a disgruntled noise at his reply and Aramis chuckled softly.

“Honestly, mi vida? If this is to be my end you would have me uncomfortable and bored rather than curled in your arms?” he asked quietly.

Porthos resumed stroking Aramis' face gently. They had both done very well over the last few days swallowing and hiding their fear. The truth was though that tomorrow they may be told Aramis would die. That was a truth neither of them were sure they could cope with.

After a little shifting, they settled with Porthos' arm beneath Aramis' head and neck, cradling him. Aramis closed his eyes contentedly as Porthos' other hand traced its earlier path down over his collarbones and across the planes of his chest.

“Sleep now, Sire. We'll learn more tomorrow,” Porthos murmured gently.

“I love you Porthos,” Aramis whispered.

“As I love you,” Porthos replied.

 


	56. Chapter 56

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The three inseparables finally receive a visit from Doctor Soyer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm away on holiday for the next four days and the ridiculous amount of cocktails I will be consuming making writing an impossibility but I couldn't bear to leave you guys waiting for the doctor's verdict so here it is!
> 
> Have a good weekend everyone!

Despite Aramis' coaxing, it was clear that Porthos had barely slept overnight. Having woken a couple of times overnight, he realised Porthos was still sleeping with a candle lit and by its light was able to see the man watching him each time he woke. By the time he woke in the morning, Porthos' eyes were red and there were circles under his eyes.

“Kiss me,” Aramis whispered sleepily.

Porthos obliged, propping himself up on one elbow and leaning over to kiss Aramis ever so lightly. It was the barest of brushes across his lips but Aramis couldn't help the slight moan that came to his lips. Porthos smiled against him, hearing the noise and kissed him more firmly, parting his lips slightly to sigh.

Aramis' arm came up to the back of Porthos' head, his long fingers wrapping into the unruly curls and holding their mouths together. He flicked his tongue out against Porthos' lips, which opened willingly.

They kissed slowly, lingering against each other. Small sighs escaped each of them as they enjoyed this moment together. As they gently broke apart, Porthos dipped his head to nuzzle against Aramis' neck and inhaled deeply, brushing his lips against the man's pulse point.

“Mmm. That's how every morning should begin and every night should end,” Aramis murmured.

“I agree,” mumbled Porthos. “Though I wouldn't disagree with a more satisfying **end**.”

Aramis chuckled loudly and Porthos lifted his head, grinning.

“Still sore at me for my campaign of me owner, you property?” Aramis teased.

Porthos chuckled quietly and kissed Aramis lightly before pulling himself to sit upright.

“No, Sire. I understand the reason for it and I haven't the words to explain how much it means to me. Doesn't mean my body agrees,” Porthos replied, smirking.

Aramis laughed for a moment before smiling up at Porthos more seriously.

“You're positive you do understand the reason for it? I know we got somewhat interrupted by the realities of our job but you do understand the why in my actions?”

“I do, Sire. As much as I love our life together you weren't wrong in saying **that** part of us had become less... not less important just less...”

“Less prominent?” Aramis suggested.

“Yes. Absolutely,” Porthos agreed, nodding. “Although I'm not sure how long it'll be before I can actually kneel for you, Sire.”

Aramis laughed again and gestured for Porthos to help prop him up on the pillows. Just as he was getting settled, there was a knock at the door. Hearing a welcome called out, Athos entered.

He looked awful. His face was grey, eyes bloodshot and his hair was dishevelled. He normally only looked this bad after a night of drinking.

“Bloody hell,” said Porthos, raking his eyes up and down their friend.

Athos narrowed his eyes.

“Making sure you're awake before I go and get the doctor for you,” he muttered, turning to leave.

“Athos!” called Aramis.

“Yes?” Athos asked sharply.

“What happened to you?”

“I'm fine. I will be back shortly,” Athos said and left.

The two of them looked at each other in surprise.

“That was... What did we do?” Aramis asked.

“He drank after he left us,” Porthos said, frowning.

“Yes. That much is clear. Why? He seemed fine when he left us,” Aramis pouted.

“I guess we'll have to ask when he comes back,” Porthos frowned.

  
  


  
  


  
  


It was a tense wait for Athos' return. Neither of them spoke much. A few times they feebly began conversations but gave up each time. Both men were simply unable to concentrate on anything but their upcoming visit. The sun was almost entirely overhead by the time there was another knock at the door. Porthos exhaled in relief when Athos entered, Doctor Soyer following.

“Good day, gentlemen,” the doctor said quietly, nodding to them both.

“Hey,” Porthos said stiffly.

“Greetings, Doctor,” murmured Aramis quietly.

Doctor Soyer nodded again, seemingly understanding their quiet. He placed his bag on the table beside Aramis' side of the bed and gestured for him to pull the sheet down. Athos remained stood beside the table and watched in a tense silence, just as Porthos was doing.

Aramis complied quickly. He appreciated the Doctor's efficiency. He had to know they had been on tenterhooks since his last visit and answers were needed. Aramis watched Soyer's fingers as he palpated in the same way as he had last time. He couldn't stop the hiss of pain when the fingers pressed in on the broken bones but if the Doctor noticed, he simply didn't react.

“I am content with your healing, Monsieur,” the Doctor said softly. “I believe your immediate danger has, indeed, passed.”

Aramis exhaled a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding and he felt Porthos' entire body sag back against the wall beside him. Doctor Soyer's glance flashed up to him but Aramis, for once, found himself lost for words. The small quirk of the Doctor's lips made him think Soyer understood.

“I am not, however, recommending you return to duty just yet. You are still significantly injured. I don't think, however, you are staring down the barrel of a metaphorical gun any longer,” the Doctor said, continuing his exploration with his fingers.

At this Aramis was finally able to chuckle and turned his face to his brothers.

“Hear that, my friends? None of you are to be kidnapped, causing me to come chasing after you while injured,” Aramis said lightly.

“Don't intend to do it again,” Porthos said, his voice hoarse.

The Doctor stood and gave a small bow.

“The ribs are definitely broken but it seems to be only cracks and no missing pieces of bone. That's encouraging. There is to be no running, no riding, no twisting. I am, however, content for you to begin sitting, though not unaided, and walking short distances. If you wish to sit out of the bed I ask that you do it on a chair with both a back and arms,” he instructed.

“Why?” Aramis asked. His natural curiosity about the body and especially injuries was resurfacing now that the immediate danger had passed.

“When one sits up unaided, the only thing supporting your body **is** your body. When one is injured such as you are, using furniture to support it reduces the strain allowing the area around your vital organs to heal,” Soyer explained.

“That makes sense,” Aramis mused. “Can I lay on either side now?”

“You can. I imagine it will hurt too much to lay on your stomach but it would not do any damage at this point. I would not recommend laying on your good side all night, however.”

“Why is that? It seems it should be the opposite,” Aramis said.

“Without being too graphic, when your belly was full of blood, it would pool on the lower side. If you're laying on the injured side, it collects in the already damaged area. Should it collect on your uninjured side it may compress and restrict healthy organs, spreading the damage to as yet unhurt areas,” Soyer answered.

“And the drinking water? The body uses it replace the blood?” Aramis asked, excitedly.

“That is my theory,” the Doctor said, walking around to examine Porthos.

He bent over Porthos' knees and the three Musketeers took the opportunity to share a look. There was more in their expressions than words could ever say. They were everything to one another. They weren't just named the inseparables. They were part of each other. Athos' eyes were soft and fond as they steadily regarded Aramis. Porthos' were full of relief and he couldn't keep them off Aramis for long. He kept flicking his gaze to Athos, grinning and then back to Aramis where he simply stared. Between them, Aramis was absolutely beaming. The blacks of his eyes were glittering with elation and the two people in the world that meant the most to him were sharing it with him.

“Better than I thought,” Soyer's voice cut in to their silent exchange.

All three of their heads whipped round to look at him.

“May I explore?” he asked. “This might hurt.”

Porthos nodded stiffly but still hissed in pain when the Doctor's fingers began probing on the injuries after rolling his braies up and over his knees.

“May I have a cloth and some water please?”

Athos nodded and quickly departed. Aramis carefully pulled himself to sit upright beside Porthos, making sure to lean back against the wall. The Doctor's eyes flicked up to watch and since he made no comment, Aramis took it as approval.

“Hi,” he said brightly, finally sitting up beside Porthos.

“Hi,” Porthos replied, his teeth gritted.

Aramis watched the Doctor's hands carefully, on the lookout for any unnecessary pain being caused. When Athos returned with a cloth, the Doctor cleaned up his knees but found it somewhat redundant as no bleeding had occurred over the last two days.

“This knee is just shocked,” Soyer said, gesturing to Porthos' right knee. “I believe the swelling is already going down. I expect you'll have full use of it within a week but probably some pain when weight bearing.”

“That's good! Better than we expected,” Aramis said, grinning. His mood was continuing to rise as their visit progressed. A slight hiss of pain brought his attention up to Porthos' face to see his eyes had closed.

“I can feel a very slight crack along the edge of the bone here on your knee,” the Doctor said. “I can't feel it extending across the knee cap. You have been remarkably lucky, Monsieur, considering how this happened.”

“Yeah I feel it,” Porthos grunted.

Aramis chuckled lightly and patted his friend's thigh.

“So what's your prediction for the left knee?” he asked.

“More severely shocked but I don't think there is any significant damage inside the knee. The break, albeit a small one, could take up to six weeks to heal, during which time I don't recommend bending the knee for long,” the Doctor relayed.

Porthos started to say something but stopped and grunted in pain as Doctor Soyer encouraged his knee to bend slightly.

“I'm happy for you to use both of your knees but I don't want you to keep this one bent for very long. Small steps, should you walk around. Unlike your friend, I don't wish you to spend too long sat in a chair as it requires your knee to remain bent but I am happy for you to move around or sit for a small amount of time.”

“Riding?” Porthos asked hopefully.

“Not yet. I'd like to see you in another two days and I will reassess. Perhaps you could take a few small steps while I watch?” he suggested.

Porthos agreed quickly and gingerly got to his feet. The Doctor's grip under his elbow was surprisingly firm as he finally stood upright.

“How does that feel?” he asked.

“Much better. I mean still really weak and it's throbbing something awful but it can hold me,” Porthos said, gingerly shifting his weight.

As the doctor guided Porthos back and forth across the room a couple of times, Aramis turned to beam up at Athos but found him scowling. He reached out to touch his hand but Athos snatched it away as if burned, choosing instead to move to sit in one of the chairs still arrayed by the bed.

“Hurting a lot now,” Porthos said through gritted teeth, distracting Aramis from their friend's reaction.

The Doctor nodded and aided him back to sit on the bed, his legs stretched out again.

“I'm content with your progress and happy to report I feel there is much less damage to each of you than initially thought. I will return in two days time to check on you both,” the Doctor said, collecting his bag.

"Thank you so much, Doctor. I don't believe I'm speaking out of turn to say you have saved my life with your advice," Aramis said, his hand on his heart.

"No need for thanks. I am merely thankful my theories proved correct. Good day, gentlemen," the Doctor replied.

“I'll walk you out,” Athos said, speaking for the first time since returning.

“No need, Monsieur. I will return around this time in the day after tomorrow,” he said, bowing slightly and withdrawing.

As the door closed, Athos turned to his friends on the bed.

“I cannot express how pleased I am that you will be remaining amongst us,” he said softly.

“As am I. I have the two most important people here with me to share my happy news,” Aramis said affectionately, squeezing Porthos' hand and reaching out to Athos with his other.

“Yes. I will return in a while with some food. It's important that you share this moment with the man you love,” Athos said.

“Oh Athos, there's no need to leave,” Aramis protested.

“I'm aware you feel the need to keep me close to you but sometimes time with the person you love is more important than simple friendship,” Athos said sharply. He turned on his heel and left in seconds.

The two men on the bed shared a startled glance before Porthos spoke into the tense silence.

“Aw, shit.”

 


	57. Chapter 57

Athos didn't return until well into the afternoon by which time Porthos and Aramis were increasingly hungry but didn't dare comment since their friend was clearly angry with them.

“Apologies for the delay gentlemen,” Athos said formally as he entered, bearing stew and bread. He was followed by the landlord, Monsieur Mermot.

Neither man spoke until the landlord had left.

“Athos?” ventured Aramis.

“Yes?” he asked, not looking at them.

“Have we upset you?”

“What makes you think that?”

“Athos,” Porthos said quietly.

Athos sighed and looked up at them.

“I'm just trying to come up with a plan,” he said evasively.

“We've been talking,” Aramis said, studying their friend's reaction.

“I imagined you would have,” he said, handing them a bowl of stew each.

“About you,” Aramis added.

Athos just nodded, giving them each a generous chunk of bread.

“And d'Artagnan,” Aramis continued.

“Mhmm,” Athos murmured, sitting back down with his own dinner.

“We're sorry,” Porthos said quietly.

Athos again remained silent, simply looking at them over his bowl.

“We were selfish. We just... We don't want-”

“To lose me. Yes. I know,” Athos said wearily.

There was an uncomfortable silence until Athos spoke again, unable to meet their eyes.

“I'm not used to being loved or wanted but I can tell the difference. You know it took me several months to accept that I wanted you physically but not romantically,” he said slowly. “Now I have found someone who is... He's both. He's everything.”

“And you feel we're trying to keep you from him?” Aramis asked in confusion.

Athos nodded silently.

“We aren't,” protested Porthos quietly. “Buuut,” he said quickly, seeing Athos' disbelieving look. “I can see how it could feel like it. We don't want to keep you from him but we have obviously been a bit too... pushy about keeping you in our life.”

Athos nodded, grateful they'd seen it themselves. He'd stayed up late last night feeling wretched for being angry at them. What kind of man is angry at their friends for wanting him to stay close? What kind of man is upset by two men loving him enough to want to keep him?

Aramis frowned.

“How is it wrong of us to think of your welfare?” he asked, huffing.

“If you did something to hurt Porthos, would it be good for you?” Athos asked.

“What? I'd never intentionally do something to hurt him,” Aramis protested.

“As I would never do something to hurt d'Artagnan. It's...” he trailed off and swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat. “Do you not understand how much it is for me to love someone?” he added in a whisper.

Aramis' frown deepened and he looked at Porthos for help. It was unusual for him to be lost in the matters of love and Porthos smiled fondly.

“Sire, imagine you weren't sure you would ever find love. Imagine all you ever had was the women you spend time with. Then imagine you met me and I couldn't cope with it,” Porthos said gently. “Your choice is between a life with just me or just them.”

Aramis shook his head slowly for a few seconds before lifting his head to look at Athos steadily.

“I am so sorry, my friend. I didn't take the time to understand,” Aramis admitted.

“It's outside your sphere of knowledge,” Athos said, inclining his head.

“So without any influence or begging from us, what do you plan to do?” Aramis asked quietly.

“I plan to ask d'Artagnan. I don't feel he objects to the pain elements. It's the... sexual aspect that troubles him,” Athos said quietly. “I've answered all of his questions and he has time to consider what he wants to do. I won't make any decisions until he tells me what he wishes.”

“But what do you **want** to happen?” Aramis pressed.

"I want to ask d'Artagnan," Athos repeated.

“Aramis,” Porthos said quietly. “We can't all run at your pace, love. Give d'Artagnan time to adjust.”

Aramis took a deep breath and nodded.

“I apologise. I'm just anxious for my best friend not to be hurt,” he said shyly.

“As am I, believe me,” Athos said. “Just give us time. I don't need...”

“You don't need us interfering,” Porthos supplied.

Athos didn't answer but smiled at them over his stew.

  
  


  
  


  
  


After an hour or so Monsieur Mermot returned with a maid to collect the dishes. He also brought along a carafe of red wine and some glasses. He smiled at them and bowed.

“I hear there is good news in here,” said, pouring them a glass each.

“There is, Monsieur. I thank you. I'm not sure we are permitted to drink too much though,” Aramis replied, grinning.

“I'm sure one glass each will not do you harm sir,” the innkeeper said, withdrawing.

Athos topped their glasses up, emptying the carafe, giving them each a generous glass.

“Salut, my brothers,” Athos said, raising his glass.

“Salut,” Porthos and Aramis echoed softly.

The three of them settled into a comfortable silence. They found words entirely unnecessary. The warm quiet surrounding them was a simple thing but it was all they needed.

“Right,” declared Aramis. “I am not remaining in this bed a moment longer than I need to.”

“Oh God. Good idea,” Porthos said excitedly.

Aramis stood carefully and stretched his arms above his head happily. He dropped his arms quickly when there was a twinge of pain.

“Mi vida, I don't think you should be sitting in a chair just yet. Another night for the swelling to reduce, perhaps?”

“Oh... I was hoping I could... Can I sit at your feet for a while?” Porthos asked, flicking his eyes back and forth between Athos and Aramis.

“Oh mi vida,” breathed Aramis. He moved to help Porthos but Athos had already stood and was halfway to him.

“Not too much, too soon,” Athos chided gently, gesturing for Aramis to take a seat.

The marksman did so but couldn't stop himself starting forwards when Porthos groaned in pain as he and Athos carefully lowered him to the floor.

After a little shuffling, Porthos settled his head against Aramis' thigh and the two men shared a loud sigh of contentment. Aramis leaned back in his chair and wound a hand into the dark curls, petting softly. For his part, Porthos was nuzzling Aramis' thigh intensely, a blanket of comfort settling on him as he was finally at his Master's feet.

  
  


Conversation between them was light for the rest of the day. Porthos fell silent after only a few minutes and seemed to be dozing slightly, which didn't surprise Aramis. Not only had he barely slept the previous night but this kind of closeness always made him slightly drowsy. It was a form of meditation, Aramis supposed. The world fell away and Porthos was free of burdens, at least for a while.

As the evening wore on, Aramis and Athos, too, began to get drowsy. Neither of them had slept well and the stress of the last few days was slowly seeping from them, leaving them all exhausted.

Athos leaned over and clasped Aramis' hand, squeezing tightly for a long second. The icy blue eyes stared into Aramis' with a silent intensity.

“I know, my friend. I know,” Aramis murmured.

Athos lifted the hand to his mouth, kissing it briefly before standing up.

“You don't have to keep leaving us,” Aramis said.

“You need tonight,” he said, bowing.

“Thanks,” Porthos said quietly, smiling. Aramis looked down in surprise, not realising Porthos was listening. He stroked Porthos' head gently.

Athos nodded, echoing Porthos' small smile. He came to Porthos and helped him carefully to his feet, holding him steady for a few seconds before walking him the short distance back to the bed. As Porthos sat on the bed, Athos leaned over him and kissed his forehead. Porthos gripped Athos' hand for a moment and they shared another little smile.

As Athos left, Aramis and Porthos both settled into bed, their backs against the wall. The second the door had closed, Aramis turned, took Porthos' face in his and kissed him, hard.

Porthos groaned instantly and one of his hands came up to wind into the dark waves of Aramis' hair while the other roamed restlessly across the expanse of his back.

“Aramis,” he moaned softly.

“Oh Porthos. My Porthos,” Aramis whispered.

“I love you. I love you, Sire. God I love you,” Porthos murmured.

“You too. I love you, Porthos. You are, truly, my life,” Aramis replied.

He peppered Porthos' face with small kisses, pressing them against his forehead, his cheeks, into his unruly beard, long from days of not being clipped.

Porthos sighed happily and tugged Aramis' hair back to gaze at him.

“Let me take care of you, Sire,” Porthos whispered.

“Let me be your Master,” Aramis replied, his black eyes more alive than they'd been in days. “Lay down.”

Porthos complied, laying down on his back, his knees still to painful to lay any other way. Aramis straddled Porthos, sitting directly on top of his groin. Normally he remained slightly lower, sitting on his thighs but to avoid pulling on his knees, he'd settled higher up.

“Sire..” Porthos groaned.

“Yes, my boy?” Aramis asked sweetly.

“Your ribs.”

“Are fine. He said not for long periods. After days I don't suppose I will be here long,” Aramis said, grinning.

Porthos laughed and arched his hips slightly, lifting Aramis up for a moment.

“Oh is **that** your problem?” Aramis asked silkily, his hands roaming across Porthos' stomach possessively.

Porthos sighed, relaxing back against the bed. He watched Aramis towering above him and luxuriated in the sensation that finally, here was his Master. Alive and well. Dominant, playful and in the mood for fun. No longer was there the shadow of impending doom worming its way into each of their hearts, stealing their moments of joy.

“That's it,” purred Aramis. “Relax my boy. Be mine.”

Porthos closed his eyes, letting Aramis' words wash over him. As he did, the nimble hands began massaging his waist and up, over his ribs. Porthos groaned quietly and rested his hands on Aramis' thighs, kneading slightly.

A small chuckle came to Porthos' lips as the hands on his stomach became firmer, nails beginning to dig in slightly. A few seconds later and Aramis dug his nails in, hard, to the soft skin on his lower belly and Porthos' hips lurched off the bed.

Aramis laughed, a low sexy chuckle, as his slightly different position meant Porthos' rapidly growing arousal was firmly trapped beneath his own bottom. He shifted his hips meaningfully, eliciting a frustrated growl from Porthos.

As he always did when he realised Aramis was going to deny him release, Porthos felt a sudden shock of arousal. He gripped Aramis' thighs tightly for a few seconds to get himself under control. When he had, he opened his eyes to find Aramis smirking down at him, one hand palming himself through his under-clothes.

“Sire,” he said hoarsely. “Please?”

Aramis felt a swell of emotion for his lover, recognising his acceptance. Porthos wasn't asking for Aramis to touch him. He was asking to touch Aramis, wanting to serve. He removed his hand and nodded for Porthos to proceed. The greedy hands immediately moved to the laces on Aramis' underwear and deftly undid them. Unable to pull them down, Porthos simply widened the laces to allow enough room for the long member within to be exposed.

Aramis emitted a soft moan when Porthos' warm fingers wrapped gently around his semi-hardness. It felt like an age since they'd been care-free enough to enjoy each other. It took only a few moments of Porthos' careful handling to bring him to hardness and from the unconscious motion of his hips it appeared Aramis was in no mood to be teased. He pressed into Porthos' hand who obediently began to touch him in long, smooth strokes.

His skilled hand moved against him with just the right pressure and in all the perfect places. It occurred to him that after so many years together and with Aramis' flat out rule about not touching himself, he probably knew Aramis' cock better than his own. This thought made arousal lance through him and he tried to arch up against Aramis' warm weight but he was too firmly seated. A deep delicious throb was beginning in his trapped member and he groaned softly.

There was a sudden sharp pain across his chest as Aramis dragged his nails down sharply, leaving eight blazing trails across his skin.

“Sorry, Master,” Porthos whispered. He didn't need words to know that was Aramis reminding him not to be concentrating on his own arousal. He shifted his focus back to Aramis and resumed his determined stroking.

“Good boy,” Aramis moaned after a few seconds.

He began to rock back and forth on Porthos' body, feeling the definitely hard bulge beneath him, knowing his boy was trapped and unable to satisfy himself. He resumed his lazy roaming of hands across Porthos' skin but made sure his nails were the main thing that man would feel. A quiet groan of pain let him know he had the balance just right.

It wasn't long before the strong, sure hand on his length had him writhing and gasping for breath. He braced his hands on his lover's waist as he felt him orgasm come rushing upon him.

Porthos felt a rush of love for Aramis as his release hit him. He was also beautiful in this moment but today, having come so close to losing him, Porthos found he had a new appreciation for just how free Aramis was. How uninhibited, how loving, how perfect he truly was.

Aramis felt a twinge of pain in his ribs as his orgasm faded but he was too tired to move. He chose instead to simply lean forwards and lay down on his stomach atop Porthos, his seed pressed between their bodies. He felt a rumbling chuckle vibrate through Porthos as the strong arms came up to wrap around him. He laughed breathlessly into Porthos' ear.

“ **Now** I feel better,” Aramis giggled.

Porthos gave no answer other than a kiss pressed into Aramis' dark waves. Even though his cock was still painfully trapped beneath Aramis' body, he too felt better. They remained like that for several long minutes, Aramis sprawled on his stomach astride Porthos' body. It wasn't until he felt Aramis growing heavy as sleep took him that Porthos reluctantly shifted.

“Master,” he whispered.

“Not yet,” Aramis mumbled.

Porthos chuckled and pressed another lingering kiss into the mass of black hair beside him. His hands began to stroke the pale skin of Aramis' back and after a few more content minutes, Aramis finally pulled himself back up to a sitting position. This shifted his weight back onto Porthos' neglected cock and the larger man groaned as pain and arousal in equal measure shot through him.

Aramis gave a sinful gyration of his hips, grinding his weight down, and grinned as Porthos gritted his teeth.

“Just the way I like you,” he murmured. “Hard, denied and slightly hurting. You're going to stay denied until at least Paris. Understand, boy?”

“Yes, Master,” Porthos groaned.

“You like it too, don't you?” Aramis asked, leaning back to press harder against him.

“Yes Master,” Porthos gasped.

“What do you like my boy?”

“The proof I'm yours,” Porthos answered immediately.

“Explain,” Aramis instructed even though he knew the answer, grinding against him again.

“Your desires are all that matter,” Porthos recited, gasping again. “I am yours, my cock is yours, my release is yours.”

Aramis never failed to be turned by this question and answer set. It was a rule he'd put in place from their very first sexual encounter and they both absolutely loved it. Porthos adored the feeling of being denied and Aramis, who was a hedonist, loved to have the power of granting or denying bliss.

“Indeed,” Aramis said quietly, stroking the skin on Porthos' stomach, his fingers coming away sticky from his own spend.

He lifted his fingers to Porthos' mouth who immediately opened his mouth to suck them clean. Aramis moaned at the sight and, once they were clean, stroked Porthos' face lovingly.

He carefully climbed off Porthos to stand beside the bed. Porthos propped himself up on his elbows when Aramis held a hand to his ribs.

“Master?”

“I'm fine. Just taking a moment,” Aramis said honestly. Porthos nodded but didn't relax his position.

After a minute, though, Aramis located a cloth and cleaned his stomach before doing the same for Porthos. That done, he walked slowly round to his side of the bed, extinguishing candles as he went. Porthos gave him a pleading look and he consented to leave one burning.

“We'll work on it my love,” was all he said on the matter and Porthos nodded gratefully.

Finally settling into bed, Aramis rolled over onto his good side and draped an arm across Porthos' body. He had to pull his legs back when they brushed Porthos' still painful knee but otherwise moulded himself to his lover's side. The arm stretching across the tanned skin was possessive and when Porthos' arm wrapped around Aramis, settling along the length of his spine, the hand was restless, constantly stroking across his lower back.

They both lay awake for a long time in a thoughtful silence. This brush with death had unsettled them both. As Aramis had identified, they lived with the prospect of sudden death as a matter of routine. It was an everyday fact. This, though, had made them actually stop and consider life without the other. What would happen?

“Do you think this will change us?” asked Aramis into the silence.

“I hope not,” answered Porthos. “The only thing about us that hasn't been perfect recently we're already working on.”

“My being your Master?”

“Oh Aramis. You're always that. That hasn't ever changed. Just... Real life got in the way,” Porthos shrugged.

“It is real life. We must get away from that thinking, mi vida. We mustn't allow ourselves to fall into the trap of considering my ownership and your obedience external,” Aramis said fiercely.

Porthos was startled the strength of his emotion.

“I know Sire I just meant-”

“I know what you meant and it's something I've always done as well. We talk a good game about ownership simply being an integral part of our relationship but we've gotten lazy,” Aramis said, lifting his head. “We have started to consider the rules and the rituals as sauce but it's the meat, my darling.”

Porthos wrapped his arm tightly around Aramis, pulling him tighter against him. He kissed him hard and was ashamed to feel tears pricking his eyes.

“Master... I... May I apologise?” Porthos asked uncertainly.

“For what?” Aramis replied warily.

“For my part in letting things slip.”

“You know I don't blame you, my love,” Aramis said softly.

“I know Master I just... I want to apologise and tell... explain where my head's been,” Porthos said, his voice growing quieter all the time.

“Explain and then I'll make a decision about an apology being necessary,” Aramis said carefully.

It was an unofficial protocol that had been in place for a few years now. The nature of their relationship meant that Porthos was inclined to take much of the blame for things that went wrong. Aramis had tried to ban him from apologising but it had ended up putting far too much burden on him instead. They'd settled for discussing each person's part in things and Aramis deciding if apologies were necessary. Disobedience was the only exception.

Yes Master. Thank you. I've found myself asking for things out of habit more than genuinely accepting it's your choice. I considered kneeling by the bed just a habit and I... That night before I was taken I got really angry that you hadn't invited me into bed,” Porthos said quietly. He had begun stroking Aramis' back absent mindedly.

“You struggled to accept I had power over you?”

“No, Master. I don't think it was that... I was angry that you weren't deciding what I wanted you to. I accepted that you had the power to make me wait but was angry that you chose to,” Porthos said quietly.

“You found yourself angry that I was putting my own desires above yours?” Aramis asked, his voice neutral.

“I... Yes Master. I believe so,” Porthos admitted.

There was a tense silence while Aramis thought through this revelation.

“I won't ask you to apologise as I feel it's equally my responsibility for blurring the lines. I have failed to make it continually clear that I am your Master as much as I am your lover. I will, however, ask you to make me aware of when this feeling flares up,” Aramis said slowly.

He hadn't moved his head from Porthos' chest but he had pulled the arm that was previously slung across his stomach and was now stroking across Porthos' abdomen.

“Master...” protested Porthos.

“No, my boy. Don't say it won't return. I don't doubt as I reassert my authority, your stubborn streak will come to life,” Aramis said.

Porthos open his mouth to reply but shut it quickly, well aware Aramis was correct. If he grew so angry just for being made to kneel for a few minutes, it made sense to be on the look out for it to happen again.

“Yes Master,” Porthos replied eventually.

“Good boy,” murmured Aramis and snuggled closer to Porthos' side.

 


	58. Chapter 58

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos reflects on his current situation.

“You seem happier,” Porthos remarked from his seat on the floor.

Athos had joined them as usual for breakfast and Porthos had once again sat on the floor beside Aramis' chair with his legs stretched out in front of him.

“My friend is going to live. It does wonders for one's mood,” Athos remarked dryly.

“I was thinking we might try bathing ourselves today if you wouldn't mind assisting, Athos,” Aramis said thoughtfully. “While I can probably just about clean myself entirely now I don't believe I am well enough to support Porthos should he stumble.”

“Of course my friends. It will have to be later this afternoon. I'm meeting Captain Colier today to discuss any further investigations they've made,” Athos said. “While I think Mademoiselle Houle may be in hiding, I do not believe she will have left Lyons just yet. If she has done so, I think she will be with the Marquis," he added thoughtfully.

“That would make it difficult for d'Artagnan and the Captain to get her away from him,” Porthos commented quietly, seeing the change in their friend.

Athos nodded, frowning towards the window.

“It would be nice to know where she is. Perhaps it would give us a better idea of how our brothers are faring,” Aramis suggested, knowingly. “If we can ascertain that she does, indeed, remain here in Lyons then we can be a little reassured that the Captain and d'Artagnan have an easier task.”

Porthos looked up and nodded his understanding at Aramis. It wasn't going to help their investigation to know where Colette was but it might ease Athos' mind to know she is nowhere near d'Artagnan.

“I don't think either of you should accompany me, if that is what you were going to suggest,” Athos said, looking at their silent conversation.

“I do not yet think Porthos is mobile enough to make it down the stairs or remain upright that long,” Aramis said slowly. “I, however, **am** well.”

“You will not be within ten feet of that woman until we're sure there is no longer a need for secrecy,” Athos said bluntly.

“Athos, please,” Aramis scoffed. “I am perfectly capable of watching without comment.”

“Are you? The woman who orchestrated Porthos' capture. The woman whose men broke Porthos' knee. The woman who didn't care if he lived or died. The woman who put him through that terrible experience,” Athos pressed.

Aramis' face darkened.

“I would like to help,” he said quietly. “I am a Musketeer, am I not?”

“You are, my friend. Therefore you will not endanger this mission by placing yourself in a situation where your heart may rule your head,” Athos replied firmly.

Aramis glared for a moment but Athos simply watched him and Aramis finally relented, a tiny nod of the head signalling his acquiescence.

“Do you not reckon she's watching the guards to see if we're still here?” Porthos asked, breaking the tense silence.

“Perhaps but she will only see me visiting their garrison. There does not need to be anything more than simply asking if they've found more about who took Porthos,” Athos replied.

“There's no way for her to have found out we know as much as we do,” Aramis said thoughtfully.

“If she does? If she's found out somehow?” Porthos asked.

“I don't see why it should change our plan,” Athos replied. “As long as she doesn't know we've gone to retrieve the Marquis, which we did not tell anyone else.”

He frowned in the direction of the window but neither of the others said anything. They knew what it was like not to know what your loved ones were doing, especially since this mission had already done such damage to their group.

“I also thought I might invite Madame Truyart to dine with us this evening. Monsieur Mermot tells me there is a private parlour upstairs that the nobility use for dining. I'm sure we could find some sort of ottoman for Porthos so you could join us,” Athos continued.

“It would be nice to venture outside of this room,” Aramis commented.

“Actually eat a meal at a table like an adult,” grumbled Porthos.

“Only if we can find furniture that facilitates it,” warned Aramis.

“I'll buy him some,” Porthos said.

Aramis laughed and leaned over to kiss him.

“I shall visit with the guards now, then. Make my way to Madame Truyart's family and return to you gentlemen some time after noon to assist bathing. It that amenable to everyone?” Athos asked.

Porthos nodded while a slow smile spread across Aramis' face.

“So we have at least four hours to entertain ourselves with newly mobile bodies?” Aramis asked.

“They are still injured,” Athos reminded him. “Be careful.”

“You wound me, Athos. As if I would ever do anything to hurt him,” Aramis replied, his hand on his heart.

Athos gave him a scathing look and Aramis and Porthos both laughed.

“OK. Harm. I would never do anything to harm him,” Aramis amended.

Athos' lips twitched into a small smile and he stood to gather their dishes.

“Could you do us a small favour as you leave?” Aramis asked.

Athos nodded and Aramis pointed to the corner of the room where his bags were.

“Could you pass me my shaving kit please and ask for some warm water and a clean towel to be brought up, please?”

“You must be feeling better,” Athos said quietly, handing him the small leather roll.

Aramis grinned and unlaced it, spreading it out on his lap. The care Aramis' took with his facial hair was legendary. He'd never met a mirror he didn't like. The only thing he didn't spend too much working on was the dark mass of hair on his head. It fell into natural waves around his head without any effort. After several days of being bed bound, however, it was particularly messy and unnaturally flat.

Athos smiled and left. When he returned with the requested items it was to find Porthos combing out Aramis' hair for him. The boxwood comb he was using had small inscriptions in Spanish around the outside. The official story was that one of Aramis' lovers had bought it for him but Athos knew it was actually a gift from Porthos, the first he'd ever given him. The first he'd given anyone.

“It still hurts when I reach up,” he explained, seeing Athos' slight surprise that he wasn't combing his own hair.

Athos nodded in understanding and rested the bowl of water carefully between them on the bed. He bid them goodbye and left in search of the guards. As he walked he found himself thinking of his brothers.

Their relationship was so easy. It was like breathing for them. Effortless and balanced. They didn't know what it was like to have lived without love for so long. They provided warmth, fun, laughter and company. D'Artagnan was so much more than that, though.

He was... He was light, love. The warmth he provided eclipsed anything Aramis and Porthos could ever provide. Just seeing Aramis and Porthos together one knew they belonged to each other and no other. However much Aramis might explore other pursuits, he always returned to Porthos.

Athos would always return to his person too but if it would hurt d'Artagnan, he'd never ever do it. He couldn't. It would wound him just as much to know he'd caused the man pain.

Underneath the frustration at their meddling, he'd been very touched, however, by their honesty. It hadn't been as selfish as he'd first thought. No matter whether they held romantic love for each other or not, it appeared he was more than a tumble in the hay for them.

Did it make him a bad person for being so willing to give them up, then? If they've invested so much emotion and love into their dalliance with him, was he a bad person for having not done the same? Certainly ungrateful. They'd expressed dismay at the idea of losing him and he'd told them they were just being selfish.

Was **he** just being selfish? Trying to have it all. Wanting d'Artagnan to give himself entirely but at the same continue having an affair? If he was honest with himself, he **did** want it all. They did provide something he wasn't sure d'Artagnan ever could. Not through his own deficiency but simply because Athos would never be able to see d'Artagnan as something he isn't.

The sex was the sticky point, though. How to achieve the peace and relief without making it a sexual encounter? Perhaps he should just make do without it? He'd put himself back together a couple of times. It might take longer but it's achievable.

His mind wandered and he thought of the times they had been physical, the times they'd shared. The way Porthos folded to his knees. The burning light in Aramis' eyes when he shared Porthos. The skilled feel of Aramis' mouth on him. The way Aramis would force Porthos to take Athos into his mouth. The few times Aramis had taken him. That feeling... Those long fingers. The sensational feeling of being enveloped and taken apart by them both. The contrast that they could be just as devastating with pleasure as with pain.

No.

He had to stop thinking that way. No.

Just because he enjoyed that time together before they slept was no reason to keep doing it. His pleasure was not important. Only d'Artagnan's mattered. If Athos spending time with the others would cause him pain or discomfort, it was Athos' burden to carry.

He looked up with a start to find his brooding footsteps had brought him to the Lyons guardhouse without noticing. He sighed deeply and entered in search of Captain Colier.

 


	59. Chapter 59

Aramis sighed contentedly. He was stretched out between Porthos' carefully spread legs, his back against Porthos' chest. They were both still shirtless so they were skin to skin and Porthos was carefully trimming Aramis' hair for him.

While he was the most generous lover Porthos had ever known, Aramis did love to be worshipped and pampered. It wasn't something he let any of his other lovers do. He never minded them admiring him since he thrived on praise but he didn't ever trust their devotion to him. Porthos was the only one he ever truly let his defences down with.

Aramis let Porthos steer and reposition him, trimming his hair carefully. It usually took some cajoling on Aramis' part since Porthos liked his hair long. It got in his eyes, though. Whenever it was long enough to tie up was too long, no matter how much Porthos liked holding it. He chuckled when Porthos let out a reluctant sigh.

“Done, Sire,” he murmured.

Aramis felt silently around his hair and smiled, leaning back contentedly against Porthos' chest.

“Thank you, my love.”

Porthos pressed a kiss into Aramis' hair in silent reply before turning his attention to his beard. For several long minutes the only sound in the room was the quiet clipping of the small scissors and Aramis let his mind drift.

He, too, was considering the fact that he never let anyone else do this. Porthos was so much more than anyone else. The term of endearments they used for one another weren't random. Porthos called him his sun and Aramis called Porthos his life. Porthos saw him as the bright spot and the bringer of warmth. Aramis, in turn, saw Porthos, quite simply, as his life.

For years he'd struggled with his decision not to join the priesthood. He still felt like God was a huge part of his life, guiding him and protecting him. He believed God brought Porthos to him and since that moment all those years ago, they had been the centre of each other's lives.

Aramis was well aware that some people didn't understand the concept of being completely devoted to Porthos and yet still seeing others. Even Porthos occasionally spent time with others, most recently his old girlfriend, Flea. He was trying hard to see Athos' point of view of immediately forsaking all others because of a new lover.

Gentle fingers touched his mouth and he couldn't resist kissing them gently. Porthos' chuckle vibrated through his back and Aramis lifted his lips for Porthos to trim his moustache.

He was struck, again, with the knowledge that nobody in the world would ever or could ever do this for him. Aramis wouldn't ever be this vulnerable and trusting with them. Is that how it was for Athos? Is it that d'Artagnan opened those last defences that even Aramis and Porthos couldn't get through? If that was the truth then Aramis was determined to do everything in his Earthly power to make sure they found a way to be together.

  
  


Porthos carefully measured the gently curling beard either side, content it was even. He lifted the small hand held mirror for Aramis who smiled widely in approval. He switched tools for the razor and Aramis obligingly stretched his long neck, leaning his head back on Porthos' shoulder.

No matter how focussed he was on his task, the small sighs from Aramis were definitely distracting Porthos. Invariably this act led to what he thought of as passively dominant sex. Much like they'd had a few days ago where Aramis makes Porthos do all the work but gets exactly what he wants, exactly how he wants.

Aramis, too, was lost in imagining all their previous encounters. There was always something arousing about Porthos with a blade in his hand. The thrill of danger always heightened things for Aramis and he couldn't stop himself beginning to thicken in his smalls. He shifted restlessly and a familiar groan from behind him let him know that Porthos was in a similar situation.

“Concentrate, mi vida,” he murmured.

“Yes Sire,” Porthos said, his voice thick with arousal.

He narrowed his eyes in concentration, scraping the blade up Aramis' throat. The room fell silent again, the sound of the scissors replaced with the rhythmic drag of the razor against Aramis' skin. The noise was joined with the sound of their increasingly ragged breathing. Porthos bit his lip when Aramis sighed again, his head dropping the side, granting him a better angle. Porthos slowly removed the last of the hair from the line of Aramis' jaw without touching the carefully shaped line of his beard.

Aramis shifted again as Porthos' broad fingers began feeling for stray hairs he'd missed. The large warm hand encircled his throat and held him still. He had to adjust himself in his underwear when Porthos' lips brushed his ear, dipping to press a kiss to the pulse point on his neck.

“Porthos,” he breathed.

“Aramis,” Porthos whispered.

Aramis lifted his chin invitingly and Porthos obliged by tightening his grip on the man's throat. He moaned softly when the first hints of breathing being restricted made themselves known. Porthos let go and Aramis pressed the heel of his hand against his growing hardness.

“Finished?” he asked hoarsely, gesturing at the shaving kit.

“Think so, Master,” Porthos hummed, still with his lips against Aramis' ear.

Aramis lifted the mirror and examined Porthos' handiwork carefully. He tilted his head back and gestured to a small section Porthos hadn't gotten quite right and smiled as Porthos quickly rectified it.

Another careful look in the mirror and Aramis was satisfied. He turned his head to kiss Porthos and they both moaned softly. Aramis twisted to get better access to Porthos but gasped as a twinge of pain shot up his side. They chuckled guiltily before Aramis carefully eased out from between Porthos' legs and stood up.

He rolled up his shaving kit and moved the bowl of water onto the table. Looking up through his fallen hair at Porthos, Aramis grinned at the lust filled eyes watching his every move intently.

“Yes, mi vida?” Aramis asked.

“You're so fucking good to look at,” Porthos replied huskily.

Aramis felt his knees go weak at the unexpected profanity but schooled his expression into an arrogant smirk.

“As are you. So much of you is hidden, though,” Aramis said, tilting his head.

Porthos made to move to the edge of the bed but Aramis held a hand up to stop him.

“Allow me,” he murmured. “Lay flat.”

Porthos shuffled down the bed and licked his lips nervously. Aramis' declaration that he would remain denied until at least Paris was still burnt into his head. Aramis, however, had that look in his eye that normally resulted in vigorous sex, often resulting in pain for Porthos.

Their love of denying Porthos' orgasm was mutual. It aroused Porthos more than almost every other activity and it made Aramis positively heady with the power. All introspection was driven from Porthos' head when his eyes fell on Aramis who was slowing unlacing his breeches.

The marksman smiled, seeing he had Porthos' full attention and put an extra sway into his hips. He slowly shimmied the garment down his hips and took the opportunity to stroke his cock, slowly bringing it to full hardness. He made no effort to hurry his movements, aware they had hours before Athos returned. The hungry look on Porthos' face was making it very difficult to drag things out, though.

Porthos was brimming with arousal. In recent months he'd grown accustomed to being able to touch Aramis whenever he wanted. They'd made love as equals more often than not, his release being the only thing Aramis liked to control and even that recently had become a perfunctory grant of approval.

The injury to his legs was making him feel as though he was physically restrained and as someone who rather enjoyed being held down, it wasn't helping to dampen his growing arousal. Nor was the mesmerising sight of Aramis' long pale fingers stroking slowly along his considerable length. Aramis wasn't as thick as Porthos, who was unusually wide but he **was** long. Porthos whined softly, reaching for Aramis to try and bring him closer.

His lover obliged, sashaying closer, taking the opportunity to kick his discarded small-clothes out of the way. He gently batted Porthos' hands away when he came within arm's reach and instead patted the pillow. Porthos groaned deeply and lifted his hands to rest either side of his head, leaving his body entirely exposed to Aramis' lazy perusal.

“Such a lovely sight,” Aramis murmured. “Like a work of art I own.”

He unlaced Porthos' small-clothes and with a little big of assistance from Porthos, had them down and off in a matter of seconds. Porthos couldn't help arching his hips slightly but Aramis was too careful and never once let his hand come into contact with his lover's arousal.

“Sire,” whispered Porthos.

“Mmm?” asked Aramis, stroking his hand possessively across Porthos' chest.

“I... I love you,” Porthos said, stammering slightly.

“I love you too,” Aramis said, smiling softly. “Are you OK?”

“I am now. I just... I can't believe how close I came to losing you,” Porthos admitted.

Aramis' smug expression melted and he settled on the bed, stretched out beside his lover.

“I'm right here, darling,” Aramis murmured, still stroking Porthos' chest. “Right here. So are you,” he added softly.

Porthos clasped Aramis' hand and squeezed gently, recognising the change in tone.

“You came for me,” Porthos murmured.

“Always,” Aramis murmured, covering Porthos' mouth with a kiss even as his hand began to stray.

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


It was after three in the afternoon when Athos finally returned. Neither Porthos or Aramis minded, though. They had spent their afternoon quite productively, for Aramis at least, and had enjoyed a sated nap afterwards.

Athos entered without knocking, which was unlike him. Aramis wrinkled his nose. He smelled like a distillery.

“Athos?” Aramis asked.

Athos didn't reply and just threw himself into a chair by the side of the bed. Porthos and Aramis exchanged a look of surprise. It wasn't like Athos to disregard courtesy. Nor was it like Athos to drink while working.

“Athos?” Aramis tried again.

“They're bringing a tub and water up,” he finally said.

“Thanks. How did it go with Captain Colier?” Porthos asked.

Athos looked up under the brim of his hat.

“She isn't in town. She's probably there,” he said darkly.

“The Captain is too smart to let her know what they're up to,” Porthos said quietly.

“D'Artagnan will be fine,” Aramis said gently.

“He has such a temper,” Athos said. There was a hint of fondness in his voice.

“They're going to be fine. They said they would be back tomorrow, no matter what. When they come back tomorrow we will know more,” Aramis said.

Athos sighed.

“I apologise, my friends. I'm just not used to... When it's the two of you I am worried but...”

“He's more,” Aramis said quietly, echoing Porthos' words from their earlier conversation.

Athos looked up in surprise.

“I am not so heartless as I seem,” Aramis said quietly. “I understand love, Athos. Not just the love I have for the women I see but the deep kind of love that's in your bones.”

Athos didn't reply and just watched his friend. Despite still speaking to Athos, he had turned his head and was looking intently at his lover.

“There is a kind of love that means you're exactly who you are. There's no pretence, no acting, no defences. You love them with your very core and everything you send out is met instantly and fully. They answer the very call of your soul,” Aramis murmured.

Porthos kissed him, cutting any more words off.

“He gets it,” Porthos said gently.

“Yes. He does,” Aramis said, finally turning to look at Athos. “Not from us. I understand that, now.”

A pained expression crossed Athos' face that took Aramis by surprise. He'd intended to explain his revelation that d'Artagnan was the person he didn't need to hide with but it just seemed to have upset him more.

“What is it?” Porthos asked, having seen the same.

There was a knock on the door, saving Athos from answering. He admitted the maids who placed the tub in the corner of the room. A minute passed in uncomfortable silence before the maids returned with hot water and filled the tub.

Aramis looked expectantly at Athos who was simply staring at the tub. He shook himself and pulled himself out of bed.

“Come on, Porthos,” he said quietly.

This seemed to shake Athos out of his reverie and he moved to Porthos' side. The larger Musketeer got to his feet slowly, testing his weight. He groaned loudly and stretched his arms above his head, pulling all his muscles.

Aramis watched, amused. He had no idea how beautiful he was. Even in bare feet he was over six feet of solid muscle. The skin on his back rippled as the muscles moved and Aramis found himself captivated.

“Bloody hell it feels good to be up,” Porthos said, dropping his arms to his sides.

“We're going to take it slow,” Aramis reminded him and Porthos nodded.

He slowly hobbled to Aramis who was stood beside the tub. Athos followed close behind, not quite touching but with his hand outstretched, just in case.

“Now it's going to hurt getting in and out,” Aramis began, looking between him and the tub. “And I'm not going to let you stay in for long since your legs will have to bend. Are you sure you want to get in?”

“I'm sure,” Porthos said, nodding eagerly.

He made quick work of removing his underwear and braced himself on Aramis' shoulder. Athos moved up to his other side and Porthos gratefully held onto his as well. It was with a groan of pain that Porthos managed to lift his injured leg up and over the edge of the tub to stand in the hot water. Before Aramis had a chance to change his mind about allowing it, Porthos pressed down on hard on his brothers, shifted his weight onto his injured leg and stood fully in the water.

“OK?” Aramis asked, not letting go of Porthos' waist, where he'd taken a grip.

“Better than expected honestly,” Porthos said, turning to look at them.

His eyes shot immediately to Aramis and nodded meaningfully at Athos. Aramis looked where indicated and saw an intense longing on their brother's face where he was staring at Porthos' naked groin. He looked back at Porthos and shrugged helplessly.

Porthos carefully lowered himself to sit in the water, groaning as he did so. Aramis smiled, though. That was a groan of pure pleasure.

As Aramis had predicted, he had to keep his legs slightly bent since they were so long so Aramis decided to ignore the bizarre behaviour of their friend and began to quickly wash Porthos' back while he attended to his own more intimate areas.

“Shall I help?” Athos asked suddenly. The marksman looked up at their friends and realised he'd removed his doublet without them noticing and had rolled his sleeves up.

“Ah. I do believe we're fine just now,” Aramis said carefully.

“I can take over while you look at his knees,” Athos countered. "Get it all done quicker?"

Aramis couldn't argue with the idea and they had all done this for each other many times after battles. He surrendered the cloth to Athos and moved further down Porthos' side to attend to the wounds on his knees.

Porthos froze between them. He hadn't missed how Athos had been staring at him. It certainly seemed a far cry from his adamant stance of discussing things with d'Artagnan before doing anything else. The problem was Athos' hands were familiar and sure on his skin and since only Aramis had found release that afternoon, Porthos was struggling not to be affected.

As Aramis dipped his hands into the water and started wiping away the remaining blood from Porthos' knees, he felt his wrist grabbed and he looked up. Athos had begun washing Porthos' chest but Porthos was clearly uncomfortable and, based on the way he was holding the cloth over himself, growing aroused by their closeness. He felt slightly guilty since it was probably his determination to have Porthos on edge that was causing it. The feeling didn't last.

“Athos,” Aramis said quietly. “Would you be so kind as to lay one of the towels out on this chair?”

Athos looked mutinous but didn't argue, simply dropping the cloth into the water and doing as he was asked.

Porthos silently mouthed his thanks to Aramis and made quick work of washing the rest of his torso and underarms while Aramis focussed on his knees. He used the pain and the clinical way Aramis was touching him to relax and by the time Aramis stood, he had calmed.

Athos rejoined them and they helped Porthos out the tub, settling him in the chair. Without comment, Aramis dropped a towel over Porthos' groin and turned to the tub himself. He felt suddenly unsure. Athos was still staring at Porthos but kept flicking his eyes back to Aramis.

This was new. Athos often became quite sexually aggressive but this felt wrong. This felt predatory, almost. Normally Aramis would be more than willing, his hedonism always willing for more. Athos had made it clear, though, that any contact like this would hurt d'Artagnan and yet Athos seemed to be suddenly angling for it.

If nothing else, he needed to draw Athos' attention away from Porthos who wasn't really able to get dressed yet, his knees still throbbing, so was slightly captive under Athos' stare. Without further ado, Aramis shed his underwear and sank into the water, sighing softly.

He understood why Porthos had groaned earlier. After days in bed, it felt good to feel the grime and sweat washing away. Even the wash Athos and d'Artagnan had helped them have earlier in the week was nothing compared to the hot water. He was glad he'd bid Porthos go first since the slightly cooled water still felt blisteringly hot against his freshly yet wonderfully abraded entrance.

Aramis bent his legs and slouched down in the tub to dip his hair underwater. Despite his earlier discomfort with Athos, he still welcomed the familiar hands in his hair underwater. The strong fingers worked their magic, massaging Aramis' scalp and combing out the freshly trimmed waves, leaving them floating freely in the water like a long halo.

After a couple of minutes, Aramis sighed and reluctantly sat up. He looked over his shoulder to see Athos looking slightly hurt, taking it as rejection. Aramis wasn't sure what to say. To a certain extent, he was rejecting Athos. Not for any lack of want. Too much want had, in fact, been the reason he'd had to sit up. However he, too, was unwilling to hurt d'Artagnan and if bedding his lover would do so, Aramis would not.

He made quick work of washing the rest of his body, unable to find a good reason to protest when Athos began washing his back without asking. He grew increasingly uncomfortable, though, when Athos' hands dipped lower in the water, beginning to wash his buttocks in a way that brothers in the field simply didn't do.

Porthos watched the growing discomfort on Aramis' face and he, too, felt bad about the position they'd put Athos in. It seemed to Porthos grossly unfair that they spend days telling Athos they still want him and then reject his rather obvious advances. It was for the best, though. Athos carried guilt like Atlas held the sky and if they welcomed him into bed today, he would hate himself when d'Artagnan finally returned.

He pulled himself to his feet, watching the concern on his brother's faces but waved them away. It hurt but had the desired effect. Athos stood, leaving Aramis to finish in peace. Porthos hobbled carefully to their bags and pulled out some clean small-clothes and shirts for them both. He sat on the bed, his back to them, and pulled his under-clothes on.

Feeling better armed, somehow, he walked gingerly back to Aramis, who was getting out of the tub, watched avidly by Athos. He threw him the towel and Aramis gratefully wrapped it around his waist.

Athos looked between the two and found himself suddenly deflated. He'd come to them with the idea of having one last fling with them before settling with d'Artagnan. Isn't that what men did? Enjoyed as much as they could before committing to one person? If this was to be his ending with them, he'd intended to make it such an end he would cherish the memory of them for years.

As he watched Porthos bending to pull his breeches over his legs it occurred to him that he was right before. They just saw him as a bit of fun on the side and now that he'd said he wanted someone else, they'd moved on. They didn't want him. He felt a sudden flare of fury at the thought of being fooled by them. They lied to him.

As quickly as it had sparked, the anger faded, replaced with the familiar ache of rejection. Athos felt a twist like a knife blade in his stomach when he watched Aramis unconsciously turn away from him to clean his intimate areas. Flicking his gaze back to Porthos he was disappointed to see him dropping a clean shirt over his head.

He felt suddenly dizzy and his skin prickled with shame. How could he have done this? He'd tried to sneak around behind d'Artagnan's back. He'd promised. A wave of nausea hit him and he turned away from his friends on the pretence of gathering the cloths. He'd ruined everything. How could he do this? Not just to d'Artagnan but to his best friends.

A flush was stealing across his entire body that left him both hot and cold in equal measure. His hands were shaking as he considered the cloths in them. He considered how he'd acted towards his injured friends and felt the weight of guilt and pain settling on his shoulders like a yoke he'd forgotten how to wear.

Athos stepped out of the room without another look at his friends and leaned against the wall, breathing hard. He didn't deserve them. He was just trying to use them. He certainly didn't deserve d'Artagnan. He was such an awful person.

Looking down at his hands he realised they were still shaking and were still wet from the bath water. He remembered trying to wash Aramis' buttocks and felt another wave of nausea hit him. His doublet and weapons were still in their room. He couldn't go downstairs like this and he couldn't face his brothers, his friends... Could he still call them that?

He stumbled blindly to his own room, grateful he kept the key in his breeches and only just made it to the chamberpot before he began to vomit.

 


	60. Chapter 60

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos is finally overwhelmed.

Porthos winced hearing the door of Athos' room slam.

“What do we do now?” he asked helplessly.

Aramis shook his head, his wet hair falling around his face.

“I've no idea,” he said in a low voice.

“He's drinking in the day again,” Porthos said quietly.

Aramis sat down heavily beside Porthos and leaned against him. Porthos' arm instantly wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him tight.

“Everything we do seems to make things worse,” Aramis observed. “We try to tell him he's loved and wanted, he gets angry at us. We try to respect his wishes not to be intimate until he's spoken to d'Artagnan and he gets hurt by us.”

“I reckon he's just got too much going on in his head and in his heart to know what he wants,” Porthos said, leaning his head sideways to rest on Aramis'.

“I just wish we could help. Or if not help, stop making things worse,” Aramis said, sighing again. “I wanted to look at his leg. I don't suppose anyone has looked at it since we got to Lyons. I don't believe I should now, though.”

“No. I think asking him to take his breeches off would definitely send the wrong message,” Porthos said, trying to lighten the mood.

Aramis gave a reluctant chuckle and Porthos pressed a kiss into his wet hair.

“We don't even know if we're meeting Madame Truyart,” Aramis said suddenly, sitting up.

“Oh, right. Yeah,” Porthos said, frowning. He turned to stare at the wall of Athos' room.

“I'll finish getting dressed and head downstairs. I'll ask the maids to recover the bath tub and water, change our bedclothes and enquire about whether Athos has booked the parlour,” Aramis said, standing and reaching for the towel to dry his hair. “If he has, we can go and collect him closer to the time. If not, we will have to go and ask him.”

Porthos nodded but reached an arm out to pull Aramis closer until he was stood between Porthos' legs.

“I agree with everything but you getting dressed,” he murmured, kissing Aramis' bare stomach.

“Porthos,” Aramis sighed.

“Mmm?” Porthos murmured, kissing a light trail across the soft dip of Aramis' stomach.

“I thought you wanted to be **out** of bed?” Aramis asked, running his hands through Porthos' curls.

“Depends if you're in it with me,” Porthos hummed, nuzzling against Aramis' bare skin, fingers playing at the waistband of his braies.

Aramis laughed and tugged Porthos' head back by the hair. He released his grip to cradle Porthos' face and kissed him gently.

“Not now,” he admonished. Porthos pouted playfully and Aramis laughed again.

Less than thirty minutes later they were stood side-by-side outside Athos' door. Aramis had discovered that in fact Athos had not booked the parlour but Aramis did so anyway. Even if Madame Truyart didn't join them it would be good for all of them to start eating outside their room. It was approaching five in the evening and they were beginning to grow hungry.

Aramis knocked lightly on the door and they listened hard for any sound of movement within. None came so Aramis tried again. Still no answer so after a silent question to Porthos, Aramis opened the door.

The room appeared empty until Porthos spotted Athos' boots sticking out from the side of the bed, pointing them out. Aramis hurried over to their unconscious friend while Porthos hobbled in, closing the door behind him. He hung Athos' doublet and weapons up on the door and followed Aramis.

Athos was passed out on the floor, vomit around his mouth. Porthos sighed deeply and the two of them looked down. While both of them could lift Athos, Aramis wasn't supposed to be lifting anything and Porthos couldn't crouch.

Porthos sat heavily on the bed, his head in his hands.

“Did we do this?” he asked.

Aramis was squatting beside Athos, shaking his head. The man was breathing fine and his pulse was strong and steady. It seemed he had just passed out rather than anything more sinister.

“This wasn't us. He was drunk before he came to us, remember?” Aramis asked.

“Yeah. 'spose,” Porthos said, reluctantly. He passed Aramis a cloth he'd found laying on the end of the bed and Aramis wiped Athos' mouth with it.

“Athos,” he said sharply. “Athos!”

When there was no answer Aramis slapped him hard across the face.

“Puppy,” Athos moaned and tried to curl up, turning away from his friends.

Aramis slapped him again

“Get off,” Athos muttered.

“Get up,” Aramis replied harshly, standing up and joining Porthos on the bed.

“Go away,” he mumbled.

“Coming to dinner in that state?” Aramis asked.

“Dinner?” asked Athos blearily. He rolled onto his side and opened one eye to squint up at the men sitting on his bed.

“Did you actually get round to inviting Madame Truyart or were you just sat in the gutter drinking?” Aramis asked harshly.

“I'm pathetic,” moaned Athos, rolling onto his stomach again.

“Get up,” Porthos said, much softer than Aramis had.

Athos did listen this time, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees. Once he'd gotten that far, Porthos was able to reach over and pull him towards them. He remained kneeling on the floor but slumped face first into the bed between them. He felt Porthos' hand resting on the back of his head and made a feeble attempt to stand up but Aramis' hand began to stroke his back gently and he felt bile rise in his throat again. This time it was utterly unrelated to the alcohol.

He didn't deserve this. After what he'd just tried to do? He was pathetic. He deserved Aramis hitting him, not the two of them comforting him. He was supposed to be working and caring for his injured friends and instead got himself drunk and threw himself at them. He was a poor excuse for a man.

“Hey,” Porthos said quietly. It sounded like his voice was coming through a thick wall. Strong fingers worked their way under his face and pulled his chin up to look at him. “Stop that.”

Athos stared blankly at Porthos. What did he mean? Stop using them? He was trying but they'd come to him. It was Aramis' hand, warm and spread between his shoulder blades that was stopping him leaving. He didn't want to use them. He was just weak and a terrible person.

“I said stop,” Porthos said, moving his hand to cup Athos' cheek.

“He doesn't understand,” Aramis' voice said on his other side. The dismissive note in it tore at Athos' heart.

“Oh,” said Porthos and shrugged.

Suddenly Athos found two pairs of strong arms hauling him up off the floor and depositing him on his stomach on the bed, framed either side by the others who quickly lay down beside him.

“Turn over,” Aramis said, his voice surprisingly cold. Athos whimpered and turned onto his back, fixing his eyes on a blemish in the painted ceiling.

“I want you to stop your spiralling thoughts,” Porthos said gently.

Athos was aware of him shifting and flinched when Porthos' face came into view. He'd pulled himself to sit upright so his face was towering above Athos', blocking out the distraction he'd found.

“Huh?” said Athos, all trace of his normal eloquence drowned in wine.

“Something's happened in that head of yours that's made you act all stupid. Now you're thinkin' stupid, too. You're whirlpooling. Stop it,” Porthos explained, shrugging again.

“Can't,” Athos whispered helplessly.

 

 

Suddenly it was two years ago.

It was Porthos that had introduced him to the concept of spiralling thoughts. They'd been sat one night by the Seine after Porthos had found him drunkenly stumbling and nearly falling in the river. He'd shown Athos the way water swirls when it finds a hole to drain through.

“You see?” Porthos asked.

He was holding a large broken basin that had a hole in the bottom. He kept filling it with water from the Seine, holding his hand over the hole. Whenever he let go of the hole, the water formed a spiral, the water whirling in circles as it raced to find the opening.

“I don't get it,” Athos mumbled.

“So whenever you have a... let's call it a black mood. Whenever you have a black mood, it's like a big bad hole in your head. It makes all your other thoughts come racing towards it, spinning and whirling to become bad thoughts. They get quicker and worse until there's nothing but bad left in your head,” Porthos explained.

Athos watched the whirling pool of water and frowned. It certainly made sense.

“How do I stop it?” he asked.

“Power of will. It takes practice. You gotta start recognising it and stopping it,” Porthos replied.

“And if I can't? When I fail? It always takes me anyway,” Athos said hopelessly.

“Until then, you come see us and we'll stop it. We said we'd help you, brother,” Porthos said.

“Help me,” Athos said suddenly, turning to Porthos and gripping his doublet.

“Aramis is busy,” Porthos said holding Athos' hands in his own.

“Help me,” Athos pleaded, hiding his face against Porthos' chest.

Porthos had stood, pulling Athos with him. Athos had absolutely no memory of being steered to their home or of how Aramis had somehow joined them but he remembered the night that followed. Aramis had been like a terrifying whirlwind with his flogger. Somehow managing to make Athos' skin alight with fire in so much pain he could hardly breathe, let alone marshal his thoughts, and yet there wasn't a mark upon him the next day.

They'd laid him between them that night, on his side, and loved him with such tenderness and gentility he'd entirely forgotten, even to this day, what had set off his black mood that day. He still remembered the warmth of Aramis against his already overheated back, rocking into him gently and Porthos moulded to his front, kissing him so lightly he felt he might break.

  
  


 

Pulling himself back to the present, he felt tears pricking his eyes and looked up into the smiling face above him.

“I'm so sorry,” he muttered. “You must think so little of me.”

“Never,” Porthos said earnestly.

“He's right,” Aramis said. Athos rolled his head to see Aramis laying on his side, his head propped up on his elbow. “We've never thought of you with anything but admiration and friendship. We never will.”

“But I'm so-”

Aramis slender hand lay across his mouth gently.

“Hush,” he said sharply.

“Don't argue with 'im,” Porthos said.

“You're confused,” Aramis said, withdrawing his hand but only so far as to hold Athos'. “I don't imagine we've helped with that. The timing of d'Artagnan's departure has been rotten. If he'd been with you while you were trying to work out what happens next it would not have been nearly as upsetting. Am I correct to assume you were throwing yourself at us in an attempt to say goodbye?”

Athos nodded and tried to look away from Aramis but found only Porthos' face above him to look at. The kindness and acceptance in Porthos' face was somehow harder to look at than the slight disapproval in Aramis' so he turned back.

“You can be such a fool,” Aramis scolded gently, squeezing the hand in his grasp. “Stop acting under the assumption all will turn out badly.”

“But d'Artagnan is so much more important than me,” Athos blurted before Aramis could stop him.

This time it was Porthos' hand that descended onto his mouth and this time it stayed there.

“He is not. He is not more important than you. Nor are you more important than he. Perhaps we care more deeply for you and spoke wrongly but the truth is, Athos, we rather like him too. The idea that between the two of you one should be of more importance is quite frankly absurd,” Aramis said quietly.

Athos wanted to repudiate his words, to explain how good d'Artagnan was, how pure, how innocent, how profoundly decent he was. D'Artagnan was certainly a much better man than Athos could ever be but Porthos' dry warm hand was still resting across his mouth. Athos found it strangely comforting to listen to Aramis' lecture without the need to respond.

“If you still disagree I would point to our relationship,” Aramis continued. “Certainly I have just about all the power. I get everything I want, including those things Porthos doesn't realise he's willing to give. I'm told he hates me on a regular basis, though I know it isn't true. He is denied, controlled, captive and possessed while I am free to do as I please, not just on my own but I can do as I wish with him, too.

“And yet... Neither one of us is more important than the other. Without him, I am nothing. Without him I would be but a shell of who I truly am. I know he would say the same of me, given the chance. The things he needs to be happy and thrive are just as important as the things I need. Do you think I would beat him if he didn't wish it, also? Do you believe that I would place my desires above things he needs to feel safe and loved?”

Athos winced as a new kind of shame rolled over him. This wasn't the terrible dark shame of his black moods. This was the relief of being admonished. This was the feeling of the black cloud being drawn from him.

“While I understand your desire to protect d'Artagnan and to never do a thing to hurt him,” Aramis continued, his voice softer, seeing the change in Athos. “I must remind you that you are to be looked after as well. I told you both that you must be protected in this. You have just as much responsibility to tell him what would and would not hurt you as he does to tell you.”

Athos nodded under Porthos' hand and Aramis leaned over to press a kiss to Athos' forehead and another to the back of Porthos' hand.

Together, they helped Athos sit up and Aramis found a pitcher of water. From the look of it it had been there a couple of days but it was better than nothing.

Athos sipped gratefully and wished he had enough to space in his head left to feel embarrassed but he was just too tired.

“Are we dining with Madame Truyart?” Aramis asked when Athos seemed more himself.

“Oh goodness. Yes,” Athos said quickly. “She will be here at seven.”

“Peace brother,” Porthos said, a hand on his shoulder settling Athos again. “It's only just five.”

Athos nodded and slumped between them again. Porthos slung an arm around his shoulders and Athos leaned gratefully against him.

“I'm going to see to the arrangements for tonight's meal,” Aramis said quietly. “Madame Truyart is making her own way here?”

Athos nodded against Porthos and heard Aramis leave. He began toying idly with the leather strap around Porthos' wrist.

“It's strange seeing this in the open,” Athos commented.

“Yeah. Really is. It's little stuff like when I first stand up. Normally I feel it move when I shift. Or when I put my smalls on, I have to adjust it so it's covered,” Porthos said quietly. He could feel Athos growing heavy against his side. “Hey now. Wakey wakey.”

“Sorry. I'm just **so** tired,” Athos said.

Now that Porthos looked carefully he could see the man was physically and emotionally exhausted. Not only had he been caring for the two of them, fetching, carrying and providing meals, but he'd also been worrying about the investigation by himself. Porthos had to admit, it had barely crossed his mind since Tréville and d'Artagnan had left. The stress of having d'Artagnan far away and possibly with the woman who had hurt his friends had to be painful. Adding in the concern and confusion around all their relationships and it was easy to see why Athos had become overwhelmed and broken under the strain today. It was clear now, this close to Athos, the man clearly hadn't been sleeping.

He ruffled Athos' hair gently and pulled away slightly. He felt Athos instantly withdraw and knew he'd again considered it rejection. He gave Athos a playful shove, sending him sideways onto the bed. Standing, he looked down at the bewildered Athos and smiled.

“Knees hurt. Gotta stand up,” Porthos explained.

“Oh,” Athos said, pulling himself to sit cross legged on the bed.

He watched Porthos pacing, taking small steps.

“You seem better,” he observed.

“I am.. Been up and on them for a couple of hours,” Porthos said, grimacing slightly.

“Are you in pain?” Athos asked.

“Yes,” Porthos answered honestly. As he walked back and forth, trying to ease the throbbing, he looked at his friend. He looked somehow small and forlorn.

“Should you not sit down?” Athos asked.

“Gotta bend me legs to do that. Ottoman?”

“Oh. No. I forgot to ask,” Athos said, shaking his head.

Aramis knocked on the door and entered carrying a clean pitcher of water. Aramis raised his eyebrows expectantly at Porthos.

“Yeah. Quite bad,” he said, answering the unspoken question.

“Sit,” Aramis said.

“I tried that,” Athos said quietly. He hadn't moved from his place on the bed.

“I hold a little more sway,” Aramis said smugly.

“I gotta sit on the bed then,” Porthos said.

Aramis gestured for him to do so and Porthos nudged Athos to move over. Porthos sat with his back against the wall and stretched his legs out, grimacing with the movement. He looked at Aramis over Athos' head. Their friend still hadn't moved. Aramis joined them on the bed, sitting beside Porthos but leaving space between them. He nodded his head at Athos and Porthos grinned.

Athos yelped in surprise when two pairs of hands pulled him to lay on his side between them. His head was guided onto Porthos' thigh, the broad hand resting in his hair and Aramis' hand resting heavily on his hip. He began to shake suddenly but neither of his friends moved. They just let him lay between them, their hands holding him steady but not caressing him in the slightest. Slowly he began to calm and his friends started to talk above him but it sounded like their voices were coming from miles away. He let himself drift, listening to their voices but not their words. The deep rumble of Porthos' voice was like a reassuring vibration, soothing him. Aramis' own lilting tones had a musical quality. The light laughing tone made him smile, even if he wasn't concentrating on what they were saying.

He exhaled slowly, feeling genuinely relaxed for the first time since d'Artagnan had left and let his mind drift pleasantly for a change.

 


	61. Chapter 61

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos lets himself lean on his friends

All too soon Athos found himself being roused. He wasn't sure he'd slept but he certainly felt more rested. He peered up at them, a question in his eyes.

“Madame Truyart is due shortly. We thought we should check on arrangements,” Aramis explained quietly.

Athos nodded and began to sit up but Aramis' hand stroked his back gently.

“You have a few minutes. Don't rush back,” Aramis said soothingly.

Athos sighed contentedly, well used to following Aramis' direction on these matters. It was only another couple of minutes before Athos tried again to pull himself upright and this time wasn't stopped.

The three men donned their doublets and Porthos seemed to be growing positively giddy at the prospect of being allowed outside of their bedrooms. Athos remained quiet while they made their way to the parlour. Aramis was pleased to find the staff had provided two footstools and a small pile of cushions. He got Porthos to sit down and arranged the stools and cushions until Porthos' legs were supported at both the feet and the knees.

As he was examining the support, a maid arrived to tell them Madame Truyart's carriage had arrived. Aramis checked Porthos once more and, satisfied, left Athos and Porthos alone to see to arrangements for dinner and meet their guest.

“Are you OK?” Porthos asked, watching Athos.

“I'm... Hm. I **was** going to say I don't need looking after,” Athos said, looking at painting on the wall.

“But you do?” Porthos guessed.

“I'll be fine,” Athos said weakly, shaking his head.

“Come and sit down,” Porthos said quietly.

“I don't... Please tell me you don't think less of me,” Athos said, remaining where he was and looking any other direction than at Porthos.

“We don't. We'll always help you, Athos. We'll always look after you. If our normal method of thought interruption isn't going to work then just let us be kind,” Porthos encouraged.

Athos didn't sit down or reply but didn't argue. Porthos correctly interpreted this as acceptance and was content to let Athos remain more reserved. He knew from experience how comforting it could be to remain slightly disconnected from the world after relying on someone so heavily. Keeping him under their blanket of protection for a little while longer could only do him more good. They stayed in comfortable silence for a few minutes until Aramis arrived with Madame Truyart in tow.

Their meal was a subdued affair, and not just because of Athos feeling even quieter than usual. Martine was still understandably saddened by the death of her husband but the loss of her home and the vineyard were weighing particularly heavily on her.

“I loved Denis so much. He... I had been married before but not... not happily. My first husband was... Well, suffice to say that when I met Denis people told me I was mad for getting involved with a solider. Violence breeds violence, my friends told me,” she said, shaking her head ruefully.

“He was retired though,” Aramis said, trying hard not to bristle at the assumption soldiers were violent.

“He was. My Denis. He'd done his time. Many years in the infantry. He was one of the first Musketeers, you know. Ah. Of course you do. You knew him,” she chuckled. “When we moved to the village people told us we were being ridiculous. My family, you understand, did not have a dowry to offer. When we told them we were moving to build a vineyard...” she trailed off but her smile was fond.

“People assumed that because of his hand he would be unable to do physical labour?” Aramis guessed.

“Yes. You know of the damage to his hand? He told me he managed to hide the extent of it from people,” Martine said, surprised.

Aramis looked decidedly uncomfortable and Porthos cleared his throat quietly.

“Aramis was the one who tended to him at Blavet,” he explained quietly.

“I apologise I could not do more,” Aramis said, pushing his food around his plate.

“Oh! You saved his life!” Martine said, dropping her fork in surprise. “Denis told me that he would have died if not for the man who tended to him. That man was you?” she asked, laughing.

“Perhaps but I let his career die,” Aramis said, frowning.

“If he had not left the military I never would have found him and we would not have built a beautiful life together. We would never have built that beautiful business...” she said, trailing off again.

“You worked the business up from nothing?” asked Porthos.

“The house was there and the barn used to hold a mill but the fields were bare. The house was a wreck. Even the front doors were falling off,” she said, smiling. “We brought it all back. Good as new. I told Denis it was like him. Superficial damage but the insides were good. The core of the place. Of course now the door are falling off again,” she said, quietly.

The four of them fell silent as they ate. A shared glance between them confirmed the three Musketeers all wanted to make her feel better but couldn't since they were the ones who had trashed the house. While it was true Bauffremont's men had ruined the fields, it was the Inseparables who had all but destroyed the house, not to mention killing seven people in it.

“You must know about wine, Madame, to build such a successful place,” Aramis observed.

“Ah, it was not my palette that bred our success. My first husband was a farmer so I could work the land but I'm sure you will understand, as a Musketeer, Denis **knew** wine,” she teased, inclining her glass to them.

Aramis easily steered the conversation back to their memories of Truyart and the rest of their meal passed much more pleasantly.

Athos remained quiet, only interjecting occasionally. He hadn't failed to notice the silent conversation between Aramis and Porthos and he knew the latter was looking out for him. He was increasingly getting the sense Aramis was keeping the conversation on Truyart's memory, not just to lighten Martine's heart but also to excuse Athos from needing to comment too much. Rather than find it irritating, he found it comforting and even managed a small smile a couple of times.

He still felt strangely fragile after his day of negative thoughts. He was well used to his bad days making him exhausted but it seemed having his brothers determined to take care of him was keeping him cocooned in their protection. It wasn't uncommon for his feelings of vulnerability and being coddled to carry over into the next day but he was reluctant to let it go today and, it seemed, so were his friends. He realised with a start that goodbyes were beginning to be said and he stood.

“It was so nice of you to invite me, gentlemen. I know our last meeting was somewhat... strained,” she said, smiling.

“I admire your resilience,” Aramis said, bowing to brush his lips across the back of her hand.

“I am a Musketeer's wife,” she said, curtseying slightly.

“That you are,” Athos said quietly. “I am pleased to see you doing so well and wish only that we could have prevented the damage to your livelihood.”

“These things are sent to try to us,” she said, wincing slightly.

“You can bounce back from this,” Porthos said, carefully getting to his feet. He, too, kissed Martine's hand.

“You never told me how you got hurt,” she said quietly.

“Part and parcel of being a Musketeer,” he said, winking at her. “I'm mending well.”

She laughed and nodded at them all. Aramis took her hand and led her out of the parlour. Athos turned to look at Porthos but found he'd moved closer without him realising. A gentle smile and a strong hand on the small of his back guided him out of the parlour and, without a word, straight to Porthos and Aramis' room.

“Are you OK?” he asked, seeing Porthos grimace as he closed the door behind him.

“Yeah. Just been up quite a lot today. Them footstools weren't as comfortable as they looked,” Porthos grunted.

Athos stepped forwards quickly and helped Porthos off with his doublet and blinked in surprise when strong arms held him in place, crushing him against Porthos' chest.

“Give up,” Porthos whispered.

He felt Athos shaking in his embrace and simply held him tighter until the body began to relax. As Porthos had easily two inches of height on the older man, he could press Athos' forehead into the crook of his neck.

Athos couldn't concentrate. There was too much running through his head. He was struggling to stop himself just melting against Porthos. He still wasn't sure he deserved their care but he couldn't deny the deep ache inside his chest. He craved the affection and the protection they provided.

D'Artagnan's face swam into his mind as he stood there. He needed to protect and look after him so badly it made him physically hurt to be apart while he might be in danger. He now understood, though, what Aramis had meant. He needed to take care of himself first.

He realised with a shock he didn't trust d'Artagnan enough yet to be this vulnerable with him and he needed to accept the support of his friends, whether he deserved it or not. They were willing to provide it and Athos was a selfish enough man to take it.

He didn't even notice the door opening, only realising Aramis had joined them when the lean body pressed against his back. Porthos' arms let go of him, wrapping around Aramis instead and Athos was bracketed by chests and stomachs.

Aramis and Porthos simply stood still for several long, long minutes with Athos pressed tightly between them. His arms hung limply at his sides but his face was pressed into Porthos' neck and when he finally relaxed enough to begin slightly nuzzling, Aramis stepped back and began to undress.

Athos felt and heard the shift but the muscled arms returned and he was content to simply wait and be held. The slender arms of his friend returned but this time they were removing his own doublet. He felt like a ragdoll, simply being steered around and undressed like a child. He didn't have the energy to protest, however, when Aramis undressed him all the way to the waist and steered him and Porthos back to the bed.

Porthos sat down and pulled Athos into his lap. He smiled fondly when Athos continued to nuzzle into his neck. A questioning look from Aramis made Porthos silently admit the position was causing him a lot of pain, having his knee bent and Athos' weight on his thighs.

Aramis debated for a second and decided Porthos could cope for just a few minutes. He crouched and made quick work of both pairs of boots and hose. Aramis pulled his own shirt off and guided Athos back to his feet, holding him tightly while Porthos removed his shirt, too. Porthos shed his breeches as well and quickly moved into his normal position, sat up against the headboard. Aramis slowly walked Athos to the bed, refusing to relax the tight hold his arms had until they'd reached the mattress.

Athos was utterly pliant in their arms and couldn't stop himself curling up when was laid down beside Porthos' stretched legs. He didn't put up even a hint of a fight when Porthos tugged his shaggy hair until his head was resting in Porthos' lap. Aramis joined them after shedding his own breeches and stroked Athos' back.

“I can't stay. I can't,” Athos murmured, trying to get up.

Firm but kind hands pressed him back down and he whimpered, his body beginning to shake again.

He couldn't do this. He swore he wouldn't. This wasn't sexual, though. They were both still wearing their smalls and he was still wearing his breeches. This was just... comfort.

He needed to tell d'Artagnan he loved him when he saw him. He loved d'Artagnan. He did. He wanted to be there for d'Artagnan like his friends were for him. He wanted to get to a point that d'Artagnan could do this for him but he couldn't yet. He needed to tell d'Artagnan he loved him. He needed to. D'Artagnan...

Porthos smiled when they heard Athos' breathing finally even out. He glanced at Aramis beside him to find him already looking at him. He smiled again as Aramis leaned over the body of their sleeping friend and, meeting him halfway, they shared a sweet kiss.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks to Jasperslittlesister for getting me out of my funk and to my non AO3 friend Christina for helping me describe concepts she and I know as unhelpful things like "foggy" and "chillaxed".


	62. Chapter 62

Athos woke slowly and with a smile on his face. There was a comforting and familiar rumble beside him and he felt so very warm it was with a great reluctance that he opened his eyes. Porthos was sprawled on his back, his mouth open and snoring loudly. His smile widened at the sight and sighed peacefully.

“Hi,” whispered Aramis.

Rather than risk waking Porthos, Athos simply twisted to look over his shoulder at the marksman. Aramis was propped up on one elbow, smiling at him.

“Good morning,” Athos murmured.

“How are you feeling?” Aramis asked.

“So much better,” he replied honestly. “I haven't... It's the first time I've slept properly for a long time.”

“I'm glad,” Aramis said, sincerely. “We were worried about you there. It's a long time since we've had to pick you up off the floor drunk and sick in the middle of the afternoon.”

Athos sighed heavily and turned back onto his side, his neck giving him a good excuse to hide.

“Hey. I didn't mean to lecture, my friend. I just meant to say things were worse yesterday than they've been in a long time,” Aramis said gently.

Athos turned over onto his back and smiled reluctantly at Aramis.

“I was overwhelmed,” he admitted. “I don't... cope well and the prospect of having the healthiest way I have to do so taken away made me panic.”

“You don't know that will happen,” Aramis reminded him.

“Bad thinking,” grunted Porthos, waking up.

“Hmm?” Aramis asked.

“He thinks bad,” Porthos muttered.

Athos smiled softly and nodded.

“Porthos calls it whirlpooling. One bad, black thought draws all others in and they swirl together and cause my black mood to consume me,” he said.

“Ah yes. He's mentioned it to me,” Aramis said, nodding. He stood, stretching his arms above his head. His eyes flickered over Porthos who was grimacing but it appeared he, too, was simply stretching. Athos and Porthos followed him out of the bed and the three men dressed in a comfortable silence.

“I shall fetch us some breakfast,” Aramis said, bowing to his brothers and departing.

Porthos grumbled and sat back on the bed but at least he was getting dressed now. Athos was watching him, slightly amused.

“What's tickling you?” he asked.

“Oh just... No matter how much you take care of me, you still someone to look after you,” Athos said quietly, taking his usual seat beside the bed.

“Oh he's the same. Oh... Is this... You feel bad that you need us to stay level?” Porthos asked. When Athos nodded Porthos shook his head. “You gotta look after yourself before you can be any use to someone else. How many time have we had to tell Aramis to tend to himself before us?”

“He doesn't have to hurt us to do it,” Athos countered.

“Perhaps not but we just suck up our own pain and deal with it until he's well enough to get to us, right?”

“I do not wish for d'Artagnan to have to, as you say, 'suck it up and deal' with my deficiencies,” Athos said, smirking a little.

Porthos chuckled. Their evening had clearly done Athos a world of good. He must be feeling better if he was gently mocking Porthos' choice of phrase.

“I'm gonna remind you **again** that we don't know how he'll deal with it. He might be able to accept. He might have come up with an entirely different solution. He might even be better than me with a whip,” he teased.

“But not Aramis?” Athos asked dryly, his mouth curving into a small smile.

“I don't know if that's possible,” Porthos grinned.

“Are my ears burning?” asked Aramis, returning.

“We were pondering your merits as a whipmaster and whether there is another that can exceed your skill,” Porthos answered, turning his face up. Aramis had crossed the room and, as he stopped speaking, kissed Porthos tenderly.

“I am a man of many talents,” he said, shrugging with an air of arrogance.

“There are many, however, that can wield a whip. Perhaps a change of occupation, Aramis?” Athos suggested, smirking. “The King's justice, perhaps?”

“Those brutes?” Aramis scoffed. “They are to my skills with a whip as a butcher is to a seamstress. They can take men apart and flay skin from bone, not with skill but with pure force. I, however, use delicacy and gentility to put the two of you back together,” he sniffed derisively.

“Gentility, Sire? You're going with gentility?” Porthos asked.

The three of them laughed and Athos leaned over to rest a hand on Aramis' knee.

“I understand, my friend,” he said quietly.

Aramis inclined his head in gratitude before turning to look at Porthos, his gracious smile turning quite predatory as he did so.

“I appreciate your saying so, Athos,” he said quietly. The hairs on the back of Athos' neck stood up at the lowered tone. “It appears Porthos does not appreciate how gentle I am, though.”

“Do you intend to kill me with kindness until I beg for you to start being rough again?” Porthos challenged, smirking. “'cause I could do with a coupla weeks of pampering.”

“I was thinking more of showing you just how gentle I am by taking the soft edges I currently display away, actually. A case of you don't know what have until you longer have it,” Aramis all but purred.

“Ah,” Porthos said looking at his lap. “You know, love. Now that I think of it you're the gentlest, most generous, loving, delicate, softest man I've ever met and I appreciate everything you are and all you do,” he said solemnly.

Aramis' laugh rang through the room and Athos shook his head affectionately.

“You are a shameless supplicant,” Aramis said, smirking. There was a knock at the door, announcing the arrival of their breakfast.

“Bloody lucky timing,” Porthos said in an undertone to Athos, grinning broadly.

  
  


  
  


Doctor Soyer visited them mid-afternoon. He was exceptionally pleased with Porthos' progress, lavishing much praise on how well rested the joints seemed. He gave Porthos a series of exercises to do three or four times a day but told them if pain flared in his cracked kneecap to stop and focus on the other only. He also gave him the all clear to walk around as much as he was able but to listen to his body. Quite simply, if it hurt, stop.

Soyer was less pleased with Aramis. While he confirmed the bleeding had definitely stopped and the bruising was receding, he correctly guessed the man had been acting entirely healed. A stern reminder to rest more often was passed along and he made sure Athos and Porthos heard as well, much to Aramis' chagrin.

They were both still forbidden to ride but their next visit was scheduled for a week's time, at the Doctor's premises. His expectation was that they would both be mobile enough to walk the short distance to his salon.

  
  


  
  


The successful visit, and the Doctor's approval for them to drink, resulted in a very high spirited afternoon, leaving them all quite tipsy. Their jovial moods carried them through several boisterous shouting matches over cards and into the dark hours. It was nearing midnight when there was a soft knock at the door. Assuming it was the landlord asking them to be quiet, Porthos jumped at the chance to use his new found functionality and hobbled over to answer it.

Pulling the door open, Porthos revealed a mud splattered d'Artagnan.

 


	63. Chapter 63

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> D'Artagnan rejoins his brothers

“Hi,” began d'Artagnan, raising a hand in greeting. He was prevented from saying anything else by Porthos who hauled him into the room, crushing him in a bear hug.

D'Artagnan gave a muffled laugh against the man's chest and tried to hug him back as best he could. Another pair of arms gripped him and he was passed seamlessly into Aramis' somewhat less oppressive embrace.

“You're alive then,” he laughed against his friend, patting his back.

“I am!” cried Aramis, still not letting go. “We're all quite well.”

D'Artagnan grinned. He was utterly exhausted and hadn't realised how tense he'd been until seeing both of his friends alive and well. Their safety confirmed, if by nothing else than the fact they were both upright, he deftly extricated himself from Aramis' embrace and his eyes found the reason he'd ridden through the rain and darkness. In three smooth strides of his long legs he reached Athos and, without even pausing, took his hand in both of his own and pressed a lingering kiss to it.

“D'Artagnan,” whispered Athos.

An instant calm washed over the Musketeer having d'Artagnan back and seeing his bright, smiling face. Glancing over the Gascon's shoulder, Athos double checked the door was closed before reaching his free hand out to cup d'Artagnan's cheek.

“Hi,” whispered d'Artagnan, leaning into the touch. The quiet, husky way he whispered that single syllable spoke volumes. Athos could hear his own longing and yearning mirrored in d'Artagnan and he felt himself breathe easier since saying goodbye to him that morning, days ago.

“You too,” he said quietly. D'Artagnan's face broke into a lopsided smile and they broke apart quite naturally.

“So what did I miss?” d'Artagnan asked casually, dropping into a chair.

Athos sat beside him but couldn't take his eyes off the man. He stared hungrily, drinking the sight in. He felt as though he'd managed to somehow forget just how beautiful the tanned skin was, the adorable way his hair fell into his eyes, especially today when it was wet, the movement of his Adam's apple when he spoke, the fullness of his lips, the sparkle in his warm, rich eyes.

“We've actually had a visit from the Doctor today so excellent timing,” Aramis was saying when Athos finally found enough space in his head to concentrate on something other than the man he loved.

“Given the empty wine bottles I'm to take it you're celebrating, not drowning your sorrows?” d'Artagnan teased.

“Indeed,” grinned Aramis. “He's confirmed Porthos' injuries, unlike my own, appeared worse than they were. His left knee is simply thinly cracked but it will still take time to heal. My bleeding has stopped so it's just a matter of waiting for my body to repair itself. We are, however, both still forbidden from riding.”

“And you?” d'Artagnan asked, his voice much softer as he turned to look at Athos.

“Physically I am in near perfect health,” Athos answered, unable to lie to d'Artagnan. The slight narrowing of the brown eyes told him his distinction had been noted.

“I haven't actually had the opportunity to look at his leg,” Aramis admitted, slightly uncomfortable.

“You've had more important matters on your mind,” Athos conceded.

“More pressing, perhaps,” amended d'Artagnan, his eyes still fixed on Athos' face. “Not more important. Not much in this world is more important than Athos.”

Athos' mouth went dry and he felt a sudden warmth spreading through him as if he were being inflated like a bellows.

“Agreed,” murmured Aramis. “You appear to have had a long ride.”

“I have,” nodded d'Artagnan. He gave a large yawn and stretched. “I've been riding all day. Flat out since the sun set and the rain began.”

“Just you?” asked Porthos.

“Just me. The Captain is on his way with the Marquis but I wanted to ride ahead,” d'Artagnan explained.

"Not out of peril, I hope," Aramis said, sharply.

"No, no. Nothing like that. A rather uneventful few days, actually," mused d'Artagnan. "I just had something here I wanted to get back to," he added with a smile.

Athos smirked a little.

“Why was that? Did you have a pressing engagement?” he asked quietly.

“Oh, shut up,” d'Artagnan said, grinning.

Aramis and Porthos beamed. The change in their taciturn friend was palpable and immediate. The worries and the problems weren't all fixed but it was clear things weren't as hopeless as they'd seemed.

“If you don't mind, my friends, I'll retire,” d'Artagnan announced, pulling himself to his feet with an effort.

“Goodnight then,” Athos said, without rising.

D'Artagnan laughed and took his hand, yanking him to his feet.

“You aren't nearly as funny as you think you are,” he murmured as they left Aramis and Porthos' room.

Athos opened the door to their own room and, as he shut the door behind d'Artagnan, felt suddenly nervous.

“So?” d'Artagnan asked, immediately stripping off his weapons and belts.

“Hmm?”

“You said physically,” d'Artagnan prompted.

Athos sighed and walked past him to sit on the bed, tugging him by the hand as he did so.

“Let me take my clothes off. I don't want to get mud in our bed,” d'Artagnan said. “Start talking,” he added gently.

“Our bed,” Athos echoed.

D'Artagnan stopped, halfway through unlacing his shirt. He surveyed the man sitting on the bed and realised things were worse than he expected. He knelt at Athos' feet.

“Hey. Hey, look at me,” he said quietly.

Athos forced his eyes off the floor and up to meet d'Artagnan's.

“Please don't despise me,” he whispered.

“Just tell me,” d'Artagnan said, reaching up and taking both of Athos' hands in his own. He heard Athos take a deep breath and couldn't stop the twist of fear in his stomach. Whatever was making Athos this worried had to be bad.

“I love you,” Athos said quietly.

“I know,” d'Artagnan said, smiling. “I love you, also. You're beginning to frighten me, though, Athos. What has happened? Are you OK?”

Athos chuckled softly and shook his head.

“I don't know,” he answered honestly. “I have spent the entire time since you were gone obsessively trying to work out what our being together means. I have run the gauntlet from deliriously happy to being utterly terrified that I'm going to cause you harm by being close. I worry that... My time with them...” Athos trailed off.

“That's been on my mind too. I'm sorry that my discomfort with the idea has caused you strife,” d'Artagnan said. He lifted Athos' hands to his mouth and kissed them both.

“It has... weighed on me,” Athos admitted.

“Me too. I'd like to talk to you about it in the morning when we're both rested if that's OK,” d'Artagnan said. “Is it enough for now to know that I love you, I care about you and I will never willingly see you come to harm?”

Athos felt tears pricking at his eyes again and wanted to wipe them away but d'Artagnan's strong hands around his own made him unwilling to move.

“Yes,” Athos whispered.

“Is that all? I feel there is something more than the fact that you've been worrying,” d'Artagnan said, searching Athos' face.

“I had a bad day yesterday,” Athos hedged.

D'Artagnan didn't reply. He simply looked up into Athos' face and waited patiently.

“I became... overwhelmed. It was a myriad of things, not just any concerns I had over you and I,” he added quickly. “I... I drank. A lot. In the day time.”

“How much is a lot?” d'Artagnan asked. He'd never known Athos to drink in the day beyond a few social glasses.

“I... made a fool of myself with our brothers, came back here and vomited until I passed out,” Athos admitted, dropping his gaze.

D'Artagnan thought for a moment. The only time he'd ever seen Athos black out drunk was after his seemingly resurrected wife had tried to kill him and burnt his house down. Presumably that hadn't triggered it this time. Athos was normally so well controlled and stoic but this seemed to contradict that behaviour. A thought struck him like a lightning bolt.

“You were... overwhelmed?” he asked slowly, thinking fast.

“By so many things. Perhaps when you're rested? Some of them are things you'd like to talk about,” Athos said.

“Athos. Look at me,” d'Artagnan pleaded softly. He hated to ask Athos this but he needed to know.

Again Athos dragged his eyes up to meet d'Artagnan's.

“Answer me something honestly, please. Is that drinking... Is that what Porthos and Aramis save you from?”

Athos winced but didn't answer. It was all the reply d'Artagnan needed. He stood, dragging Athos up also and pulled the man into his arms.

Athos felt shame wash over him once more. Now d'Artagnan knew. Knew what he escaped from. Knew what a pathetic excuse for a man he was without the pain. Knew how unable he was to look after himself. He was startled, then, to find d'Artagnan's lips pressing against his own.

D'Artagnan felt Athos resist and then, no more than a second later, give in. He kissed the man gently, feeling his hesitancy. Somehow the body in his arms felt more exhausted than his own so he kept his lips light against Athos', smiling as the Musketeer's arms came up around him, finally embracing him. He sighed happily and pulled away, only to dip his head and nuzzle against Athos' neck, inhaling deeply.

“Good to be home,” he murmured.

“This is not home,” Athos said quietly, his hands beginning their familiar stroking pattern on d'Artagnan's back. He felt his lips lift into an involuntary smile when the Gascon arched into the touch.

“You're my home,” d'Artagnan said, sighing in content.

They remained stood together for a few minutes, Athos' hands still stroking d'Artagnan while the Gascon simply breathed Athos in, his own arms loosely draped around the man's waist. When d'Artagnan yawned again, wide enough that Athos heard his jaw click, they reluctantly moved apart.

In silence, they both undressed. As d'Artagnan removed his shirt, Athos noticed the scarf he'd given him was wrapped around his waist, still. D'Artagnan looked up at him with a tired smile as he unwound it.

“Looked after me, that,” the Gascon said. He revealed a large bruise on his hip and Athos stepped closer to examine it.

“Just a bruise?” Athos asked.

“Just a bruise. Someone hit me with a chain. Your scarf cushioned the blow,” d'Artagnan said. “I'll explain properly tomorrow with the others but that's the only bump, I promise. You're always looking after me.”

Athos smiled without answering and they resumed getting undressed. The Musketeer paused at undoing his braies but one glance at d'Artagnan who was already stepping out of his own, gloriously nude, and he shed his own, too.

D'Artagnan sank into the bed and immediately his limbs felt heavy. His body was crying out for rest and now that he'd finally let it lay down in a bed, he knew he was fighting a losing battle against sleep. Even the thought of finally being naked with Athos again wasn't enough to stop it pulling him down.

He rolled onto his side as Athos lay down. He could tell the older man was still unsure about where they stood but d'Artagnan just didn't have the energy to reassure him with words. Instead he draped himself across Athos' naked body, his arm slung across Athos' stomach, one foot hooked over his.

Athos blinked in surprise. In all the times he'd imagined their reunion, it wasn't like this. It had varied between blisteringly hot sex to, more recently, arguments and d'Artagnan leaving in disgust. He'd never quite allowed room for the fact that d'Artagnan might just need to sleep or that they'd ever go to sleep without things somewhat resolved or at least cleared up.

Almost unconsciously his arm began to stroke up and down the smooth skin of d'Artagnan's back, his other hand stroking the arm draped across his stomach. He felt more of his tension leak out when d'Artagnan's body rippled under his hands, pressing against his touch.

“Oh puppy,” Athos said softly.

D'Artagnan nodded emphatically against Athos' chest where he'd settled his head.

“Mhmm,” he murmured, already halfway to sleep. “Your puppy.”

Athos closed his eyes in relief and almost laughed when less than a minute later, d'Artagnan began snoring slightly. He listened to the quiet noise for a few minutes before, to his surprise, he felt sleep pulling at him, too. He'd expected another sleepless night worrying about the morning but the prospect of facing it with his puppy in his arms didn't seem quite so terrible.

 


	64. Chapter 64

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos and d'Artagnan wake up together and are finally able to talk

Athos woke to a strange tickling sensation under his jaw. Before he had a chance to begin considering what it was, he recognised the weight across his body as d'Artagnan's sleeping form. It appeared that during the course of the night he'd moved increasingly on top of Athos. The leg he'd imply hooked over Athos' ankle was now fully between the Musketeer's legs, his chest was now most of the way onto Athos' own and his head was resting just beneath the bearded chin. It was d'Artagnan's breath rustling his beard that had awoken Athos.

He sighed blissfully, watching the man sleep. It appeared dawn had only just broken and the sunlight was hazy in the room. Still raining, then. He couldn't spare a glance to the window to see. His eyes were fixed on the man across his chest. Finally, he was here. All the 'what if's, all the black thoughts, all the fears... They didn't seem so insurmountable with the Gascon finally in his arm. He felt as those he could breathe again, could see hope again. It was as though he'd broken the surface of a dark pool and could take a full breath.

D'Artagnan began to stir and Athos realised with a slight pang of guilt he'd been idly stroking his back.

“Morning,” d'Artagnan groaned softly.

“Good morning,” Athos replied, his other hand coming up to toy with the dark hair.

“So nice to wake up with you again,” d'Artagnan mumbled. “Or perhaps I should say on you,” he added, realising how far on top of Athos he seemed to have moved.

Athos chuckled softly and d'Artagnan made no effort to move, content to simply lay together, skin to skin. After a few minutes of serene silence, d'Artagnan spoke again, sounding much more awake.

“You're much calmer than I expected. Your comments last night made me think you were quite distressed.”

“I was,” answered Athos, honestly. “Uncertainty and fear made worse by your absence is what distressed me. Your return has calmed me.”

“What are you worrying about?” d'Artagnan asked. He was fairly certain he knew some of the answer but he didn't want to break Athos' calm. The whispered way he'd begged d'Artagnan not to hate him was still ringing in his ears and he had no desire to push Athos that way again.

“Many things. Chief among them is how I will cope without our friend's help. I also worry how will I ever be good enough for you? Will Porthos' legs heal? How did his captivity affect him? Is Aramis calm enough to deal with the mission? What you've been doing. Are you more hurt than you admitted? What will happen when we're back in Paris? How will you feel when I tell you I love you. Really love you,” Athos listed, still stroking d'Artagnan's back. He could feel himself beginning to tense but these things needed discussing.

D'Artagnan shifted slightly, rippling himself against Athos' body and under his hand. Relaxing again, he turned his face up slightly so they could just about make eye contact.

“Addressing your last point first, I would tell you that you do me a great honour by allowing me into your heart and I also love you. Genuinely love you. Not infatuation, not lust, not taken a fancy to, which I assume is your insecurity. I understand that you love me and I love you in return,” he said quietly. He grinned when Athos seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. “Can you tell me why that seemed so... monumental to you?”

“I... Since...” Athos inhaled slowly, held it for a moment and exhaled just as slowly. “I have not said those words to anyone since my wife.”

“Then I am further honoured that you trust me with your heart,” d'Artagnan said. He turned his head slightly to press a kiss directly over Athos' breastbone and he felt Athos inhale sharply.

“As for being good enough for me,” d'Artagnan said, returning to Athos' list. “It's a ridiculous concept. The world is not a just place, Athos. We know this. All we can do is play with the hand God deals us and he has placed you in front of me. I choose to love you. You are, as I have mentioned, the best man I know. Incidentally, I don't feel I deserve such a good and true person and yet God has chosen not only to bring you into my life so that I might love you but to have you love me in return.”

A slight blush stole over Athos' cheeks at the sincerity dripping from each of d'Artagnan's words but he couldn't bring himself to look away. There was a burning light in his eyes and Athos found himself, for the first time in five years, completely unable to doubt someone's love for him.

“Understand? No more of such talk,” d'Artagnan said, sternly.

Athos smirked slightly and tilted his head.

“I cannot promise I will not occasionally still think it but I will endeavour to remind myself it is your choice if you wish to lower yourself to be with the likes of me,” he said dryly.

D'Artagnan laughed, loud and true. He propped himself up enough to kiss Athos, bracing his weight on his hands, either side of Athos' chest.

This was not the hesitant greeting of the night before. This was d'Artagnan exploring the lips of his lover, whom he'd been parted from. He grew bolder when Athos seemed to melt beneath him and parted the older man's lips with his tongue, flicking against them.

Athos' hand wound into d'Artagnan's hair and he groaned softly when the Gascon's lips began to move in earnest, deepening the kiss. He felt his body responding with the beautiful man so close and so bare and he responded in kind.

D'Artagnan moaned against Athos' mouth, feeling him come alive beneath him. He couldn't stop himself from shamelessly pressing his thickening member against the thigh he was basically straddling. A low groan from Athos made d'Artagnan shift his weight until he could pull his knee up, between Athos' legs and press against his most intimate area.

“Oh Athos,” he moaned softly, though the sound was mostly stolen by the increasingly sloppy kiss. The good night's sleep had refreshed d'Artagnan and all those thoughts he'd had of the man beneath came flying to the fore of his mind.

Athos' free hand skimmed down d'Artagnan's body, feeling the smooth skin and delighting in the way the man seemed to ripple under it like a petted cat. A sharp gasp reminded him of the bruise and he gently pulled away. D'Artagnan was grinning down at him sheepishly. He opened his mouth to say something but Athos gently lay a finger over his lips.

“Would you have accepted an apology about my leg that night?” he asked.

D'Artagnan pressed a kiss to Athos' fingertip in reply before sitting up and smiling at the man beside him.

“Speaking of... Let's see it,” he said, gesturing for Athos to turn over. When Athos opened his own mouth to protest, d'Artagnan mirrored his action and pressed two fingers to Athos' lips.

Athos chuckled softly and rolled his eyes before turning onto his stomach. He continued to smile and closed his eyes as d'Artagnan's hands rolled the bandage down.

“You aren't nearly as nervous as you were last time we were together,” Athos observed while d'Artagnan's fingers gently probed the large incision. It was still sore to the touch but healing very well.

“Spent too long away from you,” d'Artagnan murmured, pressing lightly on the stitches. “Seemed foolish to push so hard to get back to you and then run away from you. These are probably ready to come out, you know. Doesn't mean I'm not still nervous at getting closer.”

“We'll ask Aramis later,” Athos said quietly. “I can understand your nerves.”

D'Artagnan replaced the bandage and lay his hand over the wrapping.

“Would you like to talk about what happened?” he asked.

“To my leg?”

“The day you...” d'Artagnan trailed off. He needed to know what had happened to make Athos drink himself sick but he wasn't sure how to bring it up sensitively.

“Fell apart,” supplied Athos. He rolled onto his back again and looked up at d'Artagnan, his face a picture of resignation. “I fell apart, darling.”

D'Artagnan winced and lay back down beside Athos, pulling the sheet back over them. He moved closer and returned to his normal place, his head pillowed on Athos' chest, nuzzling into the hair.

“Tell me about it?” he asked quietly. He felt Athos take a deep breath and started trailing his fingers across the man's stomach soothingly.

“As we have previously discussed I do not always handle my emotions particularly well. Even before you left I was struggling with accepting that I love you and then watching you ride away. That... It was still all so unresolved with regards to my activities with our friends, which is my... shall we say my normal coping mechanism,” Athos began softly.

“You mean you wanted to... After I left... You and they...” d'Artagnan interrupted.

“Oh no. No puppy,” Athos said quickly. He stroked d'Artagnan's back soothingly. “I will admit, however, it was weighing on my mind that I'm not sure how to manage without it. Being faced with somewhat difficult emotions at the same time as possibly not being able to address them naturally made them instantly feel so much worse. I did not mean to imply I instantly go to them every time I upset. Please, believe me when I say that I was then, and **am now** , sure that I will not go to them if it would hurt you.”

D'Artagnan made a noise of protest but Athos shushed him gently. Now that he had found the opportunity and strength to speak, he wanted to get it all out.

“That is a fact, puppy. I can't hurt you without hurting myself. If you expect I could ever relax with them in the knowledge it was something that upset you then you misunderstand my feelings toward you,” Athos said firmly. He waited a beat to see if d'Artagnan would protest again. When he didn't, Athos continued.

“As I was saying I became utterly overwhelmed. With concern for your safety, for Porthos' health, for Aramis' very life, the mission, for Truyart and his wife, the whereabouts of Mademoiselle Houle were still unknown. I also grew uncomfortable with how long we've been gone from Paris. I was considering what my relationship with you means, what my relationship with them has or would become, facing the loss of my stress relief. I was continuing the investigation alone while babysitting them. I had to bring them their meals, make sure they were not wallowing. I let myself become utterly exhausted,” Athos said quietly.

D'Artagnan listened in silence, simply nuzzling into Athos' chest hair. The Musketeer found it amazing how much better he was feeling with every word. Each piece of anguish he released felt as though he was venting steam from a kettle.

“I wasn't sleeping and I only ate when they did. More than once my complete lack of appetite meant I forgot to obtain meals for them, resulting in more guilt,” he continued. “Then I had what you might call a falling out with them. The reasons are not pertinent in this moment but suffice to say it finalised my decision that in the event of needing to make a choice, it would be you.”

“Athos,” d'Artagnan whispered, lifting his head.

“Shh, puppy. Please. Let me,” Athos replied thickly.

The Gascon winced at the pained expression on Athos' face and lowered his head back to Athos' chest. He pressed a kiss to the man's skin, recognising he was getting to something painful.

“I began to feel... I...”

Athos blew out a deep breath and resumed stroking d'Artagnan's back to ground himself.

“I became consumed with guilt,” he said, starting again. “I... You are so much to me d'Artagnan. To be able to love you is such a big shift in my life and the fact that you give me a place in your heart is more than I could ever hope for. Yet...”

D'Artagnan's hand moved from Athos' stomach over to his side and he gripped Athos' hip firmly. Athos took a deep shuddering breath.

“I began to hate myself for wanting more. I... While I had come to the conclusion that I would willingly, and please believe me when I say willingly, give up my time with them to avoid causing you a moment of pain, I couldn't help myself feeling regretful about it. If I didn't have that way to cope, how would I? You had already seen me black out drunk but I couldn't... I've been down that road before.

“Then the... Our brothers told me they enjoyed my time with them and yet I am so willing to give them up. It made me... I felt as though I... I was ungrateful and hateful and... I just...”

D'Artagnan lifted his head and quickly pressed a kiss to Athos' trembling lips. The Musketeer's eyes had closed while he was talking but they flew open when d'Artagnan kissed him. The Gascon smiled down at him and, when Athos had calmed slightly, lay back down.

“Thank you,” Athos whispered. “I couldn't stop my thoughts and they just overwhelmed me. I drank all afternoon and when I returned to our brothers I must admit that I made inappropriate advances towards them. Advances they rejected, I hasten to add. They... Aramis and Porthos found me unconscious on the floor after being sick.”

“Oh my Athos,” d'Artagnan breathed.

“They took care of me that day. They cleaned me up, they held me and last night I slept between them as a source of comfort,” Athos said.

At this d'Artagnan lifted his head suddenly and looked sharply at Athos' tired face.

“After you made advances towards them, they took you into their bed?” he asked carefully.

“They rejected me when I was lascivious and comforted me when I was desolate. It was entirely chaste, my puppy. I did attempt to leave but I... I needed them,” Athos admitted, staring up at the ceiling.

D'Artagnan's heart broke a little seeing the defeated look on his face. He'd thought about it while he was away. After Athos' assistance coping with his own guilt about Porthos being taken he completely understood the benefit of the discipline but he couldn't stop the feeling of betrayal at the idea of Athos being sexually involved with them.

He still wasn't sure how to get around it but he knew, despite what Athos thought, the onus was on **him** to get comfortable with the idea, not on the exhausted man beside him. If this was the result when Athos tried to manage alone, it was not a price d'Artagnan was willing to pay.

“Thank you for telling me,” he said quietly.

He pulled himself up Athos' body and kissed the man tenderly. The Musketeer sighed beneath him and d'Artagnan lifted his head, looking down at him in surprise.

“I know that 'I'll just take the hit' attitude, puppy. I've used it many times myself,” Athos said, dryly.

“Your assertion being that you're more practised at it and therefore you should be one to sacrifice your well-being for mine?” d'Artagnan asked, his eyebrows raised.

Athos chuckled slightly and began smoothing his hands up and down d'Artagnan's back.

“Perhaps,” he murmured.

“That is foolish. Neither one of us should just shut down our needs or our wants. We work together, Athos. We agreed to make decisions together, remember?”

Athos nodded and smiled guiltily.

“So how do you suggest we proceed?” Athos asked.

D'Artagnan frowned at the slight tremble in Athos' voice and realised he was doing a very good job of hiding how much this worried him. He lay his head back down and stroked Athos' stomach again.

“I, again, say that I have little concerns over the, as you name it, stress relief. I am not so worldly as to accept your time afterwards with them so easily. If it is, as you say, simply about putting you back together, I like to think I could provide that for you,” d'Artagnan said quietly.

Athos thought quietly. It was true that d'Artagnan's very presence had a remarkably calming effect but would he able to come that very vulnerable place to the more domineering place he held with the man? He wasn't remotely passive in his sexual exploits with Porthos and Aramis.

“I would certainly be willing to try that,” Athos murmured. “It is, in fact, part of what brings me back to myself. Moving from vulnerable to more... demanding.”

D'Artagnan smiled against Athos' skin and nuzzled slightly.

“You? Demanding?” he teased.

“Have you forgotten our time together so easily?” Athos asked, his voice lowering and his hand threading into the black hair.

D'Artagnan lifted his head and smiled softly at Athos.

“Remind me,” he whispered.

 


	65. Chapter 65

D'Artagnan gasped in delight as Athos' mouth again descended on his length again. He was sprawled untidily on his back with Athos comfortably settled between his legs. The surprise at the sensation had faded slightly and, unlike last time, he was able to fully appreciate just how talented Athos' mouth and tongue were.

“Papa,” he panted, his fingers tightly wound in Athos' mop of hair.

The Musketeer gave no reply other than using his free hand to tightly grip d'Artagnan's hip. His other hand was firmly wrapped around the Gascon's shaft while his mouth worked its magic, drawing a cacophony of beautiful gasps and moans from the writhing man on the bed.

It wasn't long before d'Artagnan came with a muffled cry, covering his mouth with his hand just in time. While his orgasm was still rippling through he gave another shout behind his hand and saw stars when Athos sank his mouth all the way down and swallowed around his still twitching head.

He only became even slightly aware of his surroundings when he felt Athos stretch out beside him and he instinctively rolled onto his side, pressing his face into Athos' chest and nuzzling the hair gently. He felt a warm vibration run through his lover as the older man chuckled softly.

Athos stroked d'Artagnan's back idly while he calmed. While he knew the Gascon's inexperience and innocence made him slightly self-conscious, Athos found them absolutely charming. There was a small part of him that would miss his adorably startled reaction to everything when it faded. Equally, however, he was eagerly anticipating the day his bold, brash Gascony blood found its way into the bedroom. There were, however, many many firsts to show the man before that happened, though, he thought smirking to himself.

He realised after a few minutes that d'Artagnan had actually dozed off. He leaned back slightly, careful not to wake him, to gaze at his peaceful face. How strange it was that he didn't doubt for a moment they had a future when they were together.

Athos' mind drifted while d'Artagnan snoozed in his arms. He wondered where the Captain was, where their investigation stood. He considered his friends and hoped they didn't mind his disappearing. Judging by the sunlight on d'Artagnan's back, it was still early. It was a testament to how tired the man must be that he had fallen back to sleep given he was normally up with the sun. He would have to wake him eventually, though. While he would love to spend all day in bed, they were still actually on a mission. It made sense to eat breakfast with their friends and give d'Artagnan a chance to bring them up to speed on what he and the Captain had done. Another glance at the small smile on d'Artagnan's handsome face made Athos decide they could wait a little longer and he closed his eyes.

  
  


  
  


D'Artagnan woke to a mass of hair. He quickly realised his face was still pressed against Athos' chest and the memory of how they got there washed over him and he felt himself blush.

Athos' arms around him were still and d'Artagnan glanced up to see the man fast asleep. His mouth was slack and the normal lines on his face had all smoothed out while he slept. It still amazed d'Artagnan that Athos had no idea how handsome he was. Even now when his hair was sticking out all over the place, his beard was too long, his moustache unruly. He was beautiful. For several minutes, d'Artagnan just watched Athos' face. His gaze lingered over the crinkles around his eyes, the slight misalignment of his nose, the scar on his lip, just visible under the overgrown facial hair... All the things that made Athos' face the most handsome d'Artagnan had ever seen.

Simply watching him, d'Artagnan was suddenly reminded of the moments he'd imagined their reunion. He'd envisaged a somewhat more carnal first night together and decided he should make up for lost time. Athos' member was still semi-hard against d'Artagnan's leg and he realised with a slight pang of guilt that he'd fallen asleep immediately after being serviced without attending to Athos at all. That definitely needed remedying.

With some very careful manoeuvring, d'Artagnan managed to get both of his hands to Athos' groin without waking him. He felt himself stirring at the feel of Athos in his hands as he cradled him gently. Slowly he began to massage Athos' member rather than stroke, not wanting to wake him just yet.

A slight murmur made d'Artagnan freeze but no change in Athos' breathing reassured him was still sleeping. He marvelled at the way Athos grew and hardened at the same time. As he did so, d'Artagnan began a slow stroking motion along his length, trying hard to leave Athos sleeping. The Musketeer's body began to rock with the motion and d'Artagnan couldn't stop himself using one hand to mirror the motion on his own length.

A soft moan made d'Artagnan look up and it was to find a pair of green eyes watching him hungrily. He flashed Athos a slightly guilty smile and let go of them both.

Quick as a flash, Athos rolled d'Artagnan onto his back and straddled the younger man's body. He dipped his head as if to kiss him but when d'Artagnan leaned up to meet him, he moved his head sideways to simply nuzzle into the Gascon's long, elegant neck.

“Goodness. It appears my dirty boy has gotten even worse,” Athos murmured softly, the tip of his nose drawing lines along d'Artagnan's veins. “I can't even get a moment's peace without you climbing all over me.”

D'Artagnan whimpered and turned his face away, his cheeks flaming almost instantly.

“I really must do something about you,” Athos continued, his voice a low rumble against d'Artagnan's ear. “Not only can you not keep your hands off me but I also wake up to find you touching yourself?”

“I'm sorry, Papa,” d'Artagnan replied quickly, whimpering again.

“Are you **trying** to be bad?” Athos asked, his voice barely audible.

“No Papa,” d'Artagnan whispered.

“I think you're lying to yourself, little boy. I think you **want** me to punish you,” Athos murmured, his breath sending shivers down the Gascon's spine as it passed over his ear.

The only reply d'Artagnan could muster was a small moan but it quickly morphed into a whimper as Athos chuckled darkly against his skin. His cheeks felt as though they were on fire as he realised it was an involuntary thrust of his hips, seeking friction that had made Athos amused.

A sudden wave of air hit his body as Athos got up. He looked around, startled and saw Athos rummaging in his bag for something. As the Musketeer returned, d'Artagnan felt a lurch of nerves and desire in his stomach as he recognised a little vial of oil in his hand.

“Shh,” Athos murmured, returning to his previous position, stretched above d'Artagnan's body. “Do you need me to stop?”

“I... Just... What are you doing?” d'Artagnan asked.

“Nothing new, darling. Same as before you went away but with better planning,” Athos said, kissing his neck lightly.

“Oh... I... I don't understand,” admitted d'Artagnan. He felt as though he should be embarrassed by his inexperience but Athos had resumed nuzzling his nose and lips up and down the side of d'Artagnan's neck and he was struggling to form words let alone be self-conscious.

“The oil will ease the way and make the sensation far more pleasurable,” Athos murmured, his voice like silk against d'Artagnan's ear.

“Oh... Then yes... Yes please Athos,” he gasped. Remembering that night he was struggling to imagine how it could be more pleasurable but Athos seemed positive.

The older man felt d'Artagnan tense beneath him and gently flattened himself on his lover's body but just resumed nuzzling into d'Artagnan's neck and began to kiss along the line of his throat.

Despite his nerves and the initial gasp of surprise when Athos had pressed their bodies together, d'Artagnan quickly relaxed beneath the attention. It was only a few minutes before he found his hips rising, moving their hard cocks together.

“Ahh, there's my dirty boy,” Athos murmured, his teeth grazing over d'Artagnan's ear, making him shudder.

Athos subtly slicked his hand up and, lifting himself up enough to insert his hand between their bodies, grasped their touching cocks. This drew a moan from d'Artagnan whose hand quickly joined and wrapped around them as well. Athos removed his and left d'Artagnan to slowly move along them both, coating them in the oil left by Athos' hand.

The Musketeer moved until he could cover d'Artagnan's mouth with his own and kissed him hard. It was a ravaging, dominant, passionate thing that took the Gascon's breath away. When Athos finally broke the kiss, both men were panting slightly.

“Mmm. See that? See how the oil... makes everything... smoother?” he murmured, kissing d'Artagnan gently each time he paused.

“Yes,” breathed d'Artagnan. “Please.”

“You'll tell me if you want to stop, to slow down, to change?” Athos asked, his voice softening.

“I will,” promised d'Artagnan. He kissed Athos sweetly, thanking him without words for the consideration.

Athos couldn't help the groan that sounded against his lover's lips when d'Artagnan's second hand joined the first. Years of working on a farm before heading to Paris made his fingers slightly rougher and the sensation made Athos paused to simply enjoy for a moment. An impatient shift beneath him brought him back to the task at hand and he smirked at the dishevelled Gascon.

“Remember me?” d'Artagnan asked, grinning.

Athos moved his weight onto his knees, settling between d'Artagnan's willingly spread legs.

“My, my. You **are** mouthy today,” he remarked, lightly stroking his still slick fingers against d'Artagnan's perineum.

“So were you,” d'Artagnan quipped instantly, his eyebrows lifting suggestively.

Athos' smirk widened and, adding a little more pressure, he chuckled softly when d'Artagnan's eyes rolled back in his head. Satisfied his lover's sass was, for now, quelled, his fingers trailed lower, gently parting the beautiful orbs of muscle and he lightly pressed the tip of his index finger against d'Artagnan's entrance.

“Shh,” Athos murmured when the body tensed beneath him. A gentle thrust into his lover's hands was enough to redirect his attention and d'Artagnan quickly relaxed, returning to the smooth loving strokes.

Athos began to move his finger in slow, lazy circles against the ring of muscle, watching the beautiful face of his lover quickly transform from a mild confusion to pleasure. Only when he started to press back against the fingers did Athos increase the pressure.

D'Artagnan gasped when the touch became something more purposeful and he could already feel the oil making Athos' finger slide more easily over his skin. He was still nervous but found each time Athos moved on from the centre of his entrance he felt a slight ripple of disappointment. He could feel his breath shortening and it was rapidly becoming from anticipation and impatience rather than uncertainty or nerves.

“D'Artagnan,” Athos murmured softly.

The younger man forced his eyes open to find an amused smile on Athos' face.

“Yes. Yes please. Now,” he panted.

“And I will, my darling. Just perhaps you could relax your hands a little?” he suggested.

D'Artagnan glanced down and realised, a little sheepishly, he was holding them both very tightly and had stilled entirely. Now that his attention was drawn he could recognise it was actually rather painful.

“Oops,” he said, grinning sheepishly and quickly let go.

Athos inclined his head graciously and let his eyes drift closed when d'Artagnan resumed his long, slow strokes. Another small thrust from Athos and d'Artagnan shifted his grip to allow their oil slicked lengths to move against each other.

Feeling d'Artagnan relax again now that he was concentrating elsewhere, Athos pressed the tip of his finger against d'Artagnan and this time did not move away. He waited the few seconds it took d'Artagnan to press down and then gently pressed the first knuckle of his index finger into the man.

“Athos,” d'Artagnan sighed.

“OK?” he asked quietly.

“Oh yes,” d'Artagnan replied, his hands still moving slowly on their joined members.

“Just show me what you want,” Athos whispered.

Athos began to move his finger in time with d'Artagnan's hands, gradually moving slightly deeper each time.

“Ohhh,” d'Artagnan said, a smile spreading across his face, even though his eyes were closed, as he understood the game.

He gave a sudden tug to both of them and yelped in surprise when Athos pressed his finger in just as suddenly.

“I advise caution,” Athos said, smirking.

D'Artagnan laughed and opened his eyes to grin up at Athos. He watched with interest as Athos added a little more oil to his finger and murmured with appreciation when he added more to d'Artagnan's hands between them.

Athos watched with amusement as d'Artagnan began to experiment with different speeds and obligingly matched his finger's movements.

D'Artagnan giggled and drew his hands enticingly slowly down their touching cocks, trying to break Athos' concentration. The slow, slow way Athos pressed into him, however, nearly drove him insane. They shared a quiet laugh when d'Artagnan couldn't resist drawing back up them more quickly.

Athos' heart felt lighter than it had done in, quite possibly, years. The vibrancy, innocence and pure joy in his lover was infectious. He wasn't sure he'd smiled so much during sex in his life and he found himself chuckling softly as d'Artagnan began to make the strokes quicker and more regular.

“Athossss,” d'Artagnan whined, fidgeting on the bed.

“Yesssss?” Athos asked, smirking.

D'Artagnan laughed and raised his head up slightly. Athos grinned widely, an unusually open and honest expression, and dipped his head to meet d'Artagnan, kissing him. He was pleasantly surprised when the Gascon moaned against his mouth and he obligingly deepened the kiss, thrusting his tongue into his lover's mouth.

“Papa,” panted d'Artagnan against Athos' mouth. “Please. Please, Papa.”

Athos groaned softly at the urgency in his tone. The teasing and the playfulness was gone and his boy needed to be taken.

“Do you trust me?” Athos asked, pressing a soft kiss to d'Artagnan ear.

“Yes Papa,” d'Artagnan answered immediately.

Athos withdrew his finger almost entirely and pressed his middle finger against d'Artagnan's entrance.

“Oh,” whispered d'Artagnan in surprise.

“OK?” Athos asked.

“Will it hurt?” d'Artagnan asked.

“It shouldn't. Perhaps the discomfort and strange feeling will return but... Let's just say you've managed to get yourself well fucked enough,” Athos murmured, his voice sending shivers down the Gascon's spine. Somehow the vulgar curse said in the soft eloquent tone was much more wanton.

“Athos,” d'Artagnan panted, writhing beneath Athos' body.

“Show me again,” Athos said. He lifted his head and pressed their foreheads together gently. “Let us listen to your body,” he urged.

“Yes Papa,” d'Artagnan answered, nodding slightly.

His eyes had closed again and Athos pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead. He waited patiently while d'Artagnan caught his breath and gathered his nerve.

D'Artagnan rubbed his thumb absently over the head of Athos' cock while he let himself relax, delighting in the soft groan of approval. The Musketeer's forehead met his own again and d'Artagnan sighed, feeling him close. He repeated the motion and his lips lurched against Athos when the finger inside him twisted slightly. The feeling was positively hedonistic and he pressed hungrily down against Athos' digits.

“Greedy boy,” Athos whispered.

He was beginning to struggle not to thrust into d'Artagnan's hands. The prolonged contact against the warm body combined with the feel of d'Artagnan's hard cock against his own, not to mention the heavenly hands wrapped around him, were making him increasingly close to orgasm. He needed to let d'Artagnan move at his own pace, though.

D'Artagnan's entire body was thrumming with tension. A sheen of sweat covered his entire body and he could feel the sweat on Athos' forehead pressed against his own. Athos' assertion of his greed made him blush but he knew the truth. He wanted so much for Athos to take him and he knew this was part of preparing him for that. Steeling himself he moved his hands down slightly on their slick cocks and moaned softly when Athos' second finger pressed in, opening him slightly more.

The feeling of connection was startling and he laughed breathlessly when the expected pain didn't come. Athos' mouth covered his own, swallowing the laughter, and d'Artagnan kissed him back happily.

“OK?” asked Athos, keeping their foreheads pressed together.

“Oh yes,” d'Artagnan giggled. “So yes.”

“Doesn't hurt?” Athos asked quietly.

“No. Not at all. Feels... Feels so good to be close to you,” d'Artagnan replied.

“Mmm. I agree,” Athos said quietly before kissing him again.

D'Artagnan began to move his hands up and down on their lengths again but far more slowly this time. Athos continued to match his movements until he couldn't bear the tension any longer.

“Oh d'Artagnan,” he groaned.

“Athos,” hissed d'Artagnan. “Papa. Please. Oh, please. Need you.”

Athos began to gradually take over, moving his fingers in and out of d'Artagnan in sure, smooth strokes. He began to thrust his hips at the same time, pushing into d'Artagnan's hands, rubbing their lengths together in the same firm, confident movements.

“Oh God,” moaned d'Artagnan, trying to arch his body against Athos but he was too firmly pressed into the mattress.

“Bad puppy,” murmured Athos. “That's blasphemy.”

D'Artagnan laughed breathlessly and squirmed beneath him.

“Being with you is a heavenly experrrrrrience,” d'Artagnan moaned, being surprised mid-sentence by a twist of Athos' fingers.

“Flatterer,” Athos commented as if nothing had happened.

“Fiend,” d'Artagnan retorted, his voice rising in pitch as he felt his orgasm approaching.

The heat of Athos' body was unbelievable. He always seemed to run a little hotter but the feel of his fingers inside him, the way his cock was thrusting against d'Artagnan's own, their sweaty chests being pressed together... It was, as he'd said, heavenly.

“Are you going to spend for me, my boy?” Athos groaned, his voice losing its silky edge.

“Yes. Yes Papa,” d'Artagnan moaned. His hands were entirely still around their slick cocks, simply providing the closeness and friction as Athos' relentless hips moved their lengths together.

“Let go,” Athos coaxed.

D'Artagnan nodded against Athos' forehead and moaned as he felt a shift in the Musketeer's tempo. He tightened his grip around their combined members and they shared a sharp intake of breath.

All of a sudden d'Artagnan felt his orgasm crash over him and he began to moan loudly. The noise was cut off almost instantly by Athos as he claimed d'Artagnan's mouth in a bruising, hungry kiss.

D'Artagnan's entire body rippled from head to toe and he shook with the force of his orgasm. Even as his body spasmed, the weight of Athos' form atop his own meant he was still consumed with his lover's presence. He moaned into Athos' mouth as he felt the man's cock begin to jerk between their bodies as he, too, reached completion.

 

It was a few minutes later when d'Artagnan blinked a few times, slightly startled. Athos was still on top of him but most of his weight was braced on his hands either side of d'Artagnan's head.

“Back with me?” Athos asked, amusement colouring his tone.

“Where'd I go?” d'Artagnan asked, laughing.

Athos smiled and kissed the laughing face.

“Somewhere wonderful, I hope. Only for a few seconds. Not long enough for me to worry,” he said quietly, kissing d'Artagnan's sweaty forehead.

“ **You're** wonderful,” d'Artagnan murmured.

Athos chuckled again.

“You going to be OK for a few moments while I clean us up?” he asked.

D'Artagnan nodded but lifted his head up for a soft, sweet kiss before letting Athos go. He watched Athos, slightly dazed, while he located a cloth. He cleaned d'Artagnan's stomach first and then, while he was stood dabbing at his own stomach, he turned his face to smile at the man on the bed.

D'Artagnan's breath caught in his throat at the sight. He looked so much younger than d'Artagnan had ever seen him. There was no concern on his face, no worry in his eyes, no frown on his forehead. The hard planes of his chest contrasted with the softer dip on his stomach where his ribs ended. The weak sunlight was hitting his hip and lighting the slightly red hair on his bottom, the high well curved buttocks highlighted. He was so beautiful it hurt. The hard, sculpted muscles on his legs, marred only by the bandage on his thigh, were mouth watering.

Athos returned to the bed and stretched out beside d'Artagnan. He gathered the man into his arms and kissed the top of his head.

"Are you OK?" he asked, his voice slightly concerned by the way he'd been staring.

"Oh yes. I just can't believe how lucky I am that you're mine," d'Artagnan mumbled against Athos' chest.

In answer, Athos simply tightened his arms and kissed the dishevelled mop of black hair. D'Artagnan nuzzled gratefully into Athos' chest and couldn't help himself wriggling into the Musketeer's arms, welcoming the stroking motion on his back.

 


	66. Chapter 66

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The three Musketeers finally unite with their friend and have a talk.

“I said no,” Aramis said, sharply.

Porthos gritted his teeth to stop himself answering back any more than he'd done already. They'd been discussing whether to eat breakfast downstairs and Aramis, despite Porthos' insistence that he would like to try the stairs, had vetoed the idea, unwilling to entertain Porthos' opinion... However many times he'd given it. The change in his tone meant Aramis wasn't going to hear any more but Porthos still had plenty to say. He ground his teeth in frustration.

Aramis paused in pulling his boots on and watched Porthos' jaw working. He wasn't willing to have Porthos rush down the stairs before he was ready and do more damage to his knee. He'd watched Porthos run through the exercises the Doctor had set and they'd left him shaking in pain so the stairs seemed a bit too much. Porthos was healing so well that Aramis didn't want to tempt fate.

This resistance against his decision had been slightly expected since he had predicted Porthos' push back as he reaffirmed their positions but it was still unwelcome. He was staring absolute daggers at Aramis at the moment and while resistance was borderline acceptable, that level of anger was not. The marksman waited calmly for a few moments but when Porthos showed no sign of swallowing his frustration, he shook his head.

Porthos grimaced at the disappointment in Aramis' face. It always hurt him to see that but he was too proud now to back down. It was ridiculously unfair of Aramis to prevent him going downstairs. There was no good reason for him not to try. He'd promised to stop if it hurt. It was stupid to think he had any intention of doing himself more harm or taking any risk. Did he think he'd liked being bed bound? Was he just asserting himself to anger Porthos? Mission accomplished there, then.

Aramis stood and walked to the stoic man, well aware of how much would be running through his head. With his boots on while Porthos was barefoot, they stood at the same height. A small, slightly sad, smile curved his lips and he took Porthos' hands in his own.

“Come back to me, my beautiful boy,” he soothed.

Porthos blinked in surprise. He'd braced himself for an angry Aramis. He knew his arguing was out of line and certainly the angry look he'd been throwing Aramis was far beyond an acceptable level of disagreement. Why, then, was Aramis suddenly being so calm? He searched Aramis' face in confusion.

“We knew this, remember? I warned you that you were going to be rebellious,” Aramis said quietly.

Porthos snorted at his words, his anger immediately flaring back up. He wasn't supposed to have his own opinions? Even when he disagreed with the Almighty Aramis it was just because of something else?

“Come and sit down,” Aramis said, softly. He pulled gently on Porthos' hand and sat him down on the end of the bed. No matter how angry he was, Porthos was unable to ignore that direct of a command. He nudged Porthos' legs apart with his boot, trying to ignore the grimace of pain it caused in his lover, and stood between them.

Porthos huffed out an irritated breath when Aramis stepped close and his whole body stiffened when his face was pressed against Aramis' stomach. Aramis' hand wound into his curls and held his head steady while the other stroked his shoulder gently.

The marksman just stood quietly, gazing out the window while Porthos sat stoically below him. A casual glance down and he could see Porthos' knuckles had turned white with how hard he was clenching his fists. He resumed gazing at the window. It was still raining. He considered his lover for a few minutes. What Porthos needed was their normal ritual for calming him down where he simply knelt in silence for a while. This was the closest Aramis could get while Porthos was still injured. He looked down again when, after a few long, long, minutes, Porthos began to tremble slightly.

“Shh. It's OK boy,” Aramis whispered.

Porthos shuddered dramatically and his arms came up to embrace Aramis' hips, pulling his owner closer. He could feel his frustration leeching out of him while Aramis just continued to hold him. It had been so very long since he'd been able to feel small with Aramis. It was one of the many many things he loved about their particular relationship. He was the only person in the world that had ever made him feel sheltered and cherished.

“Master,” he mumbled against Aramis' stomach.

Aramis released his grip enough for Porthos to lean back enough to look up.

“m'sorry, Sire,” he mumbled.

“Thank you for saying so,” Aramis said, calmly. He sank to his knees between Porthos' legs and met his eyes. “I love you,” he said quietly, smiling softly.

“I love you too, Master. Thank you for.. For reeling me in,” Porthos said, reluctantly.

“Feel better?” Aramis asked.

“Still disagree with you and I'm still annoyed,” Porthos answered, honestly. “Accepting that it's not my choice, though.”

“Good,” Aramis said. He leaned forwards and kissed Porthos sweetly. “While I go and retrieve the footstool from the parlour, would you like to see if our friends are out of bed?”

  
  


  
  


  
  


They breakfasted in Porthos and Aramis' room. The knowing look from Porthos when Athos had opened the door to him had been enough for Athos. Inviting them in would have been like inviting a pair of laughing hyenas into the den. He had no intention of giving them more ammunition than necessary and still wanted to protect d'Artagnan from too much ribbing.

Thankfully they were successfully distracted by d'Artagnan's report of his and the Captain's activities. The Marquis had, once again, gone to pieces at the news of his mistress' betrayal. According to d'Artagnan he'd only believed them when the Gascon had thrust the paper rather rudely under his nose. Athos shot him a disapproving look and d'Artagnan laughed.

“I know. The Captain corrected me,” he said, grinning.

Athos inclined his head once and motioned for d'Artagnan to continue.

“So after that, the Captain asked me to check on the arrangements for the trials of the men you and Aramis came across. I think just to give him time alone with the Marquis,” d'Artagnan continued.

“Those beasts,” spat Aramis.

“Agreed,” d'Artagnan said. He leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “They are still rather unhappy about it. It appears they... in addition to their own rather revolting treatment, they...” he trailed off before taking a deep breath and steeling himself. “They were loaning the women out to their friends.”

Porthos made a low noise of disgust and Aramis and Athos both blanched.

“They didn't say,” Aramis said, thickly.

An uncomfortable silence sat upon them all. Stealing, brawling, duelling and even murder were things they came across most days. Whenever they were confronted with something this distasteful where the innocent were preyed upon, they were all affected.

“So their friends tried to attack me,” d'Artagnan said, briskly. “I easily saw them off, though. The perpetrators are still in custody and I handed the names of the men who had accosted me to the magistrate as well.”

“That's how you got hurt?” Athos asked.

“Hurt?” asked Aramis sharply.

“Just bruised,” d'Artagnan replied, turning his head to nod at Athos, answering them both.

“Ah yes. Bruises. Those harmless things,” Aramis said, drily. "There's no form of bruising that could ever be worse than it looked, is there?"

D'Artagnan chuckled and stood up, pulling his shirt up out of his breeches to reveal the bruise on his hip.

Aramis moved forwards to poke and prod gently at the bruise but seemed satisfied that it didn't cover any soft tissue and returned to his seat beside Porthos.

D'Artagnan finished recounting his and the Captain's visit, ending with the Marquis' agreement to place himself as bait. He and two of his servants were making their way to Lyons with the Captain as an escort while d'Artagnan had ridden ahead.

They had not seen Colette Houle around the Marquis' estate so her whereabouts were still unaccounted for, a fact that made Athos uneasy. He wasn't the only one it seemed when Aramis and Porthos shared a glance at the news.

“So she hasn't been seen at his estate and she hasn't been seen here in Lyons,” Athos said slowly.

“Hopefully he will draw her out,” d'Artagnan said, shrugging.

“I'm seeing Captain Colier again today so we can ask if they've visited the house, yet,” Athos said, frowning.

He didn't like not knowing where the woman was. It made him very uneasy since she was clearly dangerous.

Beside him, d'Artagnan shrugged and stretched his arms above his head, sighing comfortably.

“So I take it you slept well?” Aramis asked, smirking.

Athos shot Aramis a warning look but d'Artagnan simply laughed good-naturedly.

“I had quite the... strenuous night. It helps,” d'Artagnan replied quickly. “You should try it.”

“Ahh but we're so used to our Gascon waking up with the birds and yet today Porthos had to come looking for you,” Aramis teased.

“Can I help it if I still needed to recover?” he shrugged.

“These young men, Porthos. No stamina. No staying power,” Aramis commented.

“I thought the younger they were, the longer they lasted,” Porthos said, grinning.

“Sadly it seems not. Our poor Athos. Hopefully his new recruit will get some decent training,” Aramis said dramatically.

“I'm sure Athos will see to that,” Porthos smirked.

“We can only hope. He is, after all, the best swordsman in France. Hopefully our young d'Artagnan's _swordplay_ can be brought up to scratch,” Aramis said.

Athos had wanted to let d'Artagnan handle this sparring himself but it could be very tricky to stop Aramis and Porthos when they bounced back and forth this quickly.

“It's not so much the stamina,” Athos drawled, interrupting their rapport. “The younger men can bounce back so much quicker. Why enjoy each other once when you can have that moment over and over? My previous partners were, I'm afraid to say, not up to the challenge.”

The silence after Athos' words was glorious. D'Artagnan's face was a mix of gratitude and horror. Porthos was simply amused but Aramis' face was a comical picture of shock. His mouth had fallen open in a perfect 'o' and his hand had flown to his chest.

“Goodness, mi vida!” Aramis exclaimed, recovering quickly. “It appears our dearest friend had thrown us off like an old, ill fitting coat for a shiny new leather doublet!”

“Maybe we're too frayed around the edges, Sire, Porthos suggested, chuckling. Aramis sighed loudly.

"Discarded for the new shiny garments. Doomed to join the scrap pile of rags,” he pouted.

“Rags?” Porthos asked, beginning to laugh fully now.

Aramis pressed the back of his hand to his forehead and slumped down dramatically in his chair.

“Perhaps, Porthos, if we're very lucky he will keep us around to wash dishes. Maybe as a towel,” Aramis lamented, his voice growing ever more theatrical. Athos and Porthos grinned at each other. “Maybe if we're incredibly lucky we could be an old ratty blanket that keeps him warm on the nights his new shiny doublet is drying out.”

Athos chuckled softly and cast a glance to d'Artagnan who was looking surprisingly pained. He reached out and lay a hand on his knee.

“D'Artagnan?” he murmured.

“It's not like that,” he blurted.

Porthos and Aramis both stared at him in surprise but Athos moved smoothly to his knees at d'Artagnan's feet and took his hands.

“Shh. We know. We know,” he soothed.

“But he said- I won't- I'm not going to-”

“Shh,” Athos repeated, stroking the back of d'Artagnan's hands with his thumbs.

“Athos- I would never... Please know,” d'Artagnan said, growing increasingly upset.

“Shh. Breathe. Come on. You know how. Breathe with me,” Athos whispered, holding d'Artagnan's gaze.

Slowly he calmed down and Athos stood, pulling his chair close to d'Artagnan's. He sat down but lay a heavy hand on d'Artagnan's thigh. After studying the Gascon's face for a few seconds he gave a slight nod to Aramis, who he could see was looking quite agitated at having upset d'Artagnan.

"I apologise, d'Artagnan. We didn't mean it. I simply took the metaphor too far. I didn't mean to imply you will pick Athos up and put him down again. Please. We know,” Aramis said earnestly.

Porthos nodded emphatically by Aramis' side.

D'Artagnan found himself growing suddenly angry and stared furiously at the pair in front of him.

“You think that's what I was upset by? I don't care if you think that. I know it's not true and so does he,” he spat, his voice shaking. Athos squeezed d'Artagnan's leg gently and, when the Gascon turned to look at him, shook his head slightly. D'Artagnan took a few deep breaths and nodded at him before turning back to the others.

“I know that Athos needs you. I won't have that taken from him. I'm told you two are willing to continue helping him. I am angry at the idea that on a cold night where Athos needs to be kept warm, I wouldn't be there,” d'Artagnan said slowly. His voice was calmer but no less angry. It was more like a low burning fire than a lick of flame.

Another silence followed but much more tense this time. D'Artagnan took Athos' hand in his and sat up a little straighter.

“I was planning to talk about this later but since it's come up now, let's talk. We have more talking to do but the fact is that I can understand and accept the purely physical stress relief. I am, however, less comfortable with the sexual side of things,” d'Artagnan said, squeezing Athos' hand. He could feel the Musketeer growing tense and wanted to reassure him.

“OK,” Aramis said, slowly. “I hasten to explain they are separate.”

“Athos has already explained that,” d'Artagnan said.

“He did explain they're related, though right?” Porthos rumbled softly. “I think it's... It's how he puts himself together. Would that be right, Athos?”

“I phrased it the same way,” he said quietly, a wry smile on his lips.

“So while they're separate, the sex is...”

“Porthos,” Aramis murmured his tone clearly warning.

“No. It's OK. Please continue,” d'Artagnan said.

“They're separate but it **is** part of the healing process,” Porthos said carefully.

“Yes. Athos **has** explained that, too. I appreciate that. I also appreciate you being honest about it, as well,” d'Artagnan replied with a small smile. “The way I see it working is that you provide the former, I provide the second.”

Athos' hand jerked in d'Artagnan's but the Gascon held it fast, squeezing gently. He ran his thumb across Athos knuckles and shot him a quick glance to reassure him. He was clearly struggling but this needed to be talked about.

Porthos was nodding slowly but Aramis was looking surprisingly fierce.

“Aramis?” d'Artagnan prompted, sensing an objection.

“If you think that we,” he began, his voice shaking slightly.

This time it was Porthos gripping Aramis' hand that calmed one of the men's anger. D'Artagnan watched as something silent passed between them.

“In those moments, we are responsible for him. It will be difficult for us to surrender him into the care of someone else after we've... undone him,” Aramis said slowly.

“I wouldn't hurt him,” d'Artagnan replied quietly.

“They know,” Athos said quietly.

“It's not a matter of thinking you'd hurt him... It's more wanting to be sure you'd be **able** to take care of him,” Porthos explained. “Brother, we've seen what happens when you try and do it without us and it took an uncomfortably long time.”

“Can you explain what you mean about being able?” d'Artagnan asked. He glanced at all three of them, making sure Athos knew he was included in the question.

“The place he goes... the place we go,” Porthos amended, swallowing thickly. He knew it would be easier for Athos if Porthos revealed some of himself too. “It's a deep place inside ourselves and...” he trailed off, swallowing again. “Sire?”

“Of course, mi vida,” Aramis answered, meeting Porthos' request for help. He moved his hand from under Porthos' and circled his wrist gently. “The place I take them requires a certain amount of sacrifice on their part,” he said, addressing d'Artagnan.

The Gascon watched as Porthos relaxed back in his chair, the way his forehead smoothed out. There was a shift in Aramis' demeanour. His back had straightened and his chin had lifted. A quick glance to Athos and it seemed even he had felt it. His attention was caught by Aramis and d'Artagnan listened with interest.

“To get strong, determined self-assured men like these to a place where they are entirely vulnerable takes a lot of concentration from them. They have to gradually let go of every doubt, every concern, every conscious part of themselves and just feel,” Aramis continued. “It takes a lot of care to put them there, where they're, in essence, defenceless. I know my Porthos told you it's more about being sure you're able to take care of him but would you find it easy to give someone you love in that state to someone else?”

D'Artagnan shook his head without replying.

“So you understand some of my concern. You have to understand, d'Artagnan, while it takes a lot for **them** to let me strip that away, it takes a lot of care for it all to come back safely. There are many risks. It, the real world, can come back too soon and overwhelm them, like waking up too suddenly, or not all of it can come back equally. If you imagine the concerns and doubts coming back before the perspective,” Aramis explained quietly.

D'Artagnan nodded. He glanced between the silent forms of Porthos and Athos. They were both calm and surprisingly docile. Athos seemed to feel d'Artagnan's eyes on him and gave him a reassuring smile.

“It takes some skill on my part to get them there and it takes some to get them back as well. If you are to be the party who does that, I would find it very difficult and slightly concerning to not be around as a level of protection,” Aramis said.

D'Artagnan nodded slowly, seeing the wisdom in his words. However much he understood, though, he couldn't stop finding the thought of making love to Athos where Aramis would be able to intervene, even see, make him slightly uncomfortable. The idea of Aramis and Porthos watching Athos regain his strength and equilibrium by, in part, taking dominion over d'Artagnan's body was mildly distressing.

He could see the truth in Aramis' words, though. That day when Athos had taken him apart with just his hands, made him cry and took all the pain and upset from him. He'd known just how to hold him after the tears had stopped. Just when to stroke, how hard to grip his neck while he calmed... D'Artagnan wondered if he knew enough or had good enough instincts to do that.

 

“I don't foresee it being an issue for a while but at least we have a starting point,” Athos said, quietly.

D'Artagnan and Aramis both nodded and they finished their breakfasts in comfortable quiet.

  
  


  
  


 

 

“Porthos,” Aramis said quietly.

Athos and d'Artagnan had left to head to Captain Colier while Porthos and Aramis went through the papers again. Now that they knew they were going to be able to spring a trap, they had to work out how to make it believable.

At least that had been the plan. Porthos had been in a lot of pain after going through his exercises for a second time and was sat on the floor beside Aramis' feet, nuzzling into his leg. Aramis was content to leave him there. He was still reeling from their disagreement that morning and the rapid way he'd fallen silent and passive let Aramis know how important this time was.

It was a very reluctant Aramis that finally nudged him back to the real world.

“Mmm. Hi Master,” Porthos murmured sluggishly.

“Hello,” he replied, smiling.

“How long was I...”

“It's not long after noon,” Aramis replied quietly. He stroked his hand through Porthos' long curls. “Your beard needs a trim, too.”

Porthos nodded, taking a deep breath and slowly nuzzling Aramis' thigh, slowly coming back.

“Thanks for this,” Porthos said, pressing a kiss to Aramis' thigh before sitting more upright.

“Not a problem,” Aramis answered. He looked down at Porthos and frowned. “You still aren't sleeping, are you?”

Porthos looked up and opened his mouth but shut it again quickly. He gazed at his hands, folded in his lap.

“Porthos,” Aramis prompted.

“No, Sire. I don't... I don't have the courage to close my eyes,” he replied unhappily.

“Why didn't you tell me it went beyond needing the candles?” Aramis asked gently.

“We have enough to be dealing with at the moment,” Porthos answered, shrugging.

Aramis didn't answer. It was true. He could hardly remember how long this mission had been and the physical injuries had taken precedence.

“I'll look at it,” Aramis promised.

Porthos shifted uncomfortably. He was still struggling with surrendering to Aramis again and the idea of trusting him with something this painful made him want to curl up and hide. At the same time, he wanted nothing more than his Master to come and make it all OK again. There was a part of him that hated that weakness. He shook his head in frustration and looked at the papers spread across the coffee table, moving to stand up.

“Uh uh,” said Aramis, a hand landing on his shoulder.

“Sire?”

“What do you do when I've put you somewhere?”

“Ask before I leave that position,” Porthos answered, looking at the floor again.

It was a rule they'd stopped observing some months ago and Porthos couldn't stop the flush of irritation at being prompted to remember something Aramis had also forgotten for many months.

“Hey now. None of that. Shh,” Aramis soothed, seeing him growing annoyed. “I'm remembering now.”

“Yes, Sire,” Porthos said, exhaling slowly. If they wanted to get back to the point where Aramis could fix his issues, he needed to swallow his irritation. “May I get up, Sire?”

“Yes, mi vida. Come and work with me,” Aramis said, squeezing his shoulder warmly.

 


	67. Chapter 67

“You're sure this is the place?” asked d'Artagnan dubiously, looking at the house.

“It's the only house large enough within the time frame your friend gave,” Captain Colier replied.

Colier's guards hadn't had a chance to investigate the house and after days of being unproductive, Athos jumped at the chance to do something. It took them nearly thirty minutes to get to this house, much longer than Aramis had reported, which gave d'Artagnan his doubts. Athos and Colier were less concerned, though. They accounted for the adrenaline of the night being enough to shorten the time in Aramis' mind.

They split up and searched the house and while it wasn't empty, it didn't yield any useful evidence. The topography of the house and basement were enough to confirm they were in the right place. Athos hissed angrily when they came to the basement stairs.

“They **threw** him down these?” Colier asked, anger lacing his tone as well.

D'Artagnan nodded while Athos walked down the stairs. He looked sideways at Colier. It appeared even though he didn't know Porthos, he was just as angry at the treatment of another solider.

Returning to their search of the house, Athos and Colier grew increasingly frustrated.

“What did you expect to find?” asked d'Artagnan.

“Something,” snapped Athos. D'Artagnan gave him a disapproving look.

“It's our only lead,” Colier muttered. “We can't even get the ownership records for the property because it's too far outside the city walls. It seems to fall in some of hole in the jurisdiction and nobody keeps records for it.”

“ **We** have jurisdiction over it,” d'Artagnan protested.

“Yeah. You guys have authority to see the records but we don't know who holds them,” Colier explained.

“Well there's a family crest on the wall in a couple of rooms,” d'Artagnan observed.

“So?” scoffed Colier, turning to leave.

“Your thinking?” Athos asked, frowning. He'd underestimated the young Gascon too often.

“It's repeated around the house and never been taken down. Whose family? Why not taken down? It gives us somewhere to start.”

  
  


  
  


  
  


It was late that evening after a very full supper that Captain Tréville finally arrived. His men and Captain Colier were still in the parlour with historical records spread across the table. Aramis noticed him first.

“Captain!” he exclaimed, jumping to his feet. He crossed the room but was met halfway.

Tréville embraced Aramis tightly, unable to stop the huge grin on his face. He'd been slightly reluctant to return, unsure if he'd find Aramis alive or not. The walk up the stairs had been the longest he could remember in recent years. To see the man on his feet, vibrant as ever was like something unclenching from around his heart.

“You're not leaving us, then?” he asked, holding Aramis at arm's length and examining his face.

“Not just yet Sir, no,” Aramis replied grinning.

“Captain,” Porthos said from beside them.

“Porthos,” Tréville said, looking him up and down. He embraced Porthos as well before pulling back and giving him the same examination. “How are you?”

“Legs are better than expected but still healing. Rest is...”

“We'll talk,” the Captain said, squeezing his arms.

Aramis watched the exchange and smiled. At least someone else knew some of what Porthos was going through. That was helpful.

“Captain,” Athos said quietly.

Porthos and Aramis withdrew and Tréville clasped one of Athos' hands.

“Good to see you Athos,” he said warmly.

A quick rearrange and the Musketeers made space for their Captain, seating him in the middle of them.

“Did you want some supper brought up, Captain?” asked d'Artagnan.

“No. I asked for some wine on my way in,” Tréville answered. He cast a glance around the table but there were too many documents for him to focus. “Captain?” he prompted.

Captain Colier brought him up to speed quickly. He showed him the plans Aramis and Porthos had drawn up for the third salon, based on their previous information. He ran him through the trail of ownership on the house they'd managed to find. The trail ran cold about a hundred years before but the last family that they could find that had owned it was the same family that had owned several properties in Lyons. Several properties that, directly through marriage, were later owned by the Houle family.

“The Marquis has retired for the night. Madame Truyart's family have offered to put him up until other lodgings could be found,” Tréville said, thoughtfully.

“There's a vacant room here,” Colier said, frowning.

“I wasn't sure,” Tréville said dismissively.

The surrounded Musketeers shared a knowing glance. It could only be helpful to have Bauffremont confronted by the woman whose husband he had murdered. Martine was a charming but formidable woman with a good heart. Seeing the face of the lives Colette's deceit has destroyed could harden his resolve to take her down.

“We'll collect him in the morning if the room is still available,” Athos said quietly.

Tréville was staring off to the side, thinking deeply. He gave a small nod at Athos' words.

“Captain,” Porthos said quietly.

Tréville didn't answer or turn back to the table but gave a small nod.

“How do we let her know?”

Aramis glanced at Porthos.

“Let her know what, Porthos?” he asked.

“Well we're basing this whole thing on her coming to his rescue but how do we let her know he's in trouble in the first place?”

“We just have to make a little noise. A few whispers and comments in the right taverns will get it back to her,” Colier answered. “She might not have been seen back at the farmhouse but she must still be in contact with the men that took you there.”

Porthos' face darkened at the reminder and Aramis replied for him.

“I understand where you're coming from, Captain. They certainly seemed at ease there. They weren't that familiar with the place, though,” he said.

“You said they were relaxed,” Colier answered.

“They were. That doesn't mean they knew the place. If they knew the layout of that cellar, they never would have left the door unguarded. At the very least they would have locked it,” Aramis explained.

“Unless they assumed his injuries meant he'd never be able to get out that way,” Colier replied.

“I don't believe they knew of Porthos' injuries,” Tréville said.

The four heads of his men whipped to him immediately and Colier frowned.

“What makes you say that?” he asked.

“I believe Porthos' injuries were from carelessness. They were caused by accident and unless they'd checked on him, which they didn't, or seen his escape, which they didn't, or he's been seen since your men brought him here, I don't believe they're common knowledge among the men who caused them,” Tréville explained.

“I'd like to make them aware,” Aramis said, darkly.

D'Artagnan murmured his agreement while Athos simply sat in silence.

“As would I,” Tréville scowled.

Captain Colier looked between the five men and frowned again. Athos caught him looking and decided to move things along.

“I would not be surprised if a woman like that works alone,” he said quietly.

“She clearly doesn't,” Colier huffed.

“She may use men to do her bidding but that certainly doesn't mean they are privy to her plans. They may not even know how to contact her unless she talks to them first,” Athos said softly.

D'Artagnan studied Athos while the other men absorbed what he said. There was a flat, dead look in his eyes again. Like someone had closed some shutters inside him. That look appeared whenever someone spoke of duplicitous women and d'Artagnan found himself eager to find the woman who'd hurt him so.

“They may not,” Tréville said into the quiet, startling d'Artagnan. “I think, however, it's safe to assume that she's made enough money and invested enough time into this venture that she's keeping an eye on it. Noise would reach her.”

“We can round up Monsieur Montagne. He should be able to bring some of the other members of his club, not telling them it's false,” Aramis said.

“You think he'll hold his tongue about the truth?” Porthos asked, having not met the man.

“I believe our Gascon made quite the impression on him,” Athos said quietly, smirking.

“So we have the members. We have the premises. We're.. uh... We're going to need to make it believable,” Colier said, haltingly.

“Meaning?” d'Artagnan asked.

“If we're expecting her to hear about a gambling ring and that Bauffremont is wrapped up in it again, we're going to need there to be an actual gambling ring for him to be involved in,” Colier explained.

“Yeah,” Porthos said, frowning. That much was obvious. Why was he pointing it out?

“We aren't the King's own regiment,” Colier snapped. “We can't fund that kind of ruse with our measly budget.”

Tréville closed his eyes slowly and a pained irritation crossed his face.

“This isn't Paris,” Colier said, peevishly.

“It's not that,” Tréville said, the irritation passing and resignation taking its place. “I'll write to the Cardinal," he sighed.

The six men enjoyed a couple of flagons of wine and not long after Captains Colier and Tréville left. Tréville took Colier by the arm as the two of them collected their horses.

"You seem troubled," he said.

"You'll think me a fool for saying it," Colier replied, sounding tired. When Tréville didn't answer, he sighed. "Your men. They... the way they listen to you..."

"I'm their Captain," Tréville answered.

"They love you," Colier blurted.

"I like to think they respect me, trust me and follow me. I, too, am a Musketeer. Brotherhood is something we all live up to, not just something I demand."

"I always wanted to be a Musketeer," Colier admitted, sheepishly.

"After my job?" Tréville teased.

"Perhaps when this is all over, I could learn from you?" Colier asked.

Tréville clapped him on the shoulder.

"Of course, my friend."

 


	68. Chapter 68

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porthos and Aramis have some time alone to reflect on their friend's relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been very remiss about posting recently. I've had a very busy and emotionally draining few weeks and the last few days have been exceptionally hard. I love each and every one of you who is following me through this and you bolster my spirits every time I stumble. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you
> 
> \- kitti x
> 
> Sappy bit over... I give you Porthamis ;)

“You kept watching me,” Athos murmured to d'Artagnan.

The two Captains had left, leaving the four friends alone. Aramis was supporting Porthos from beneath his arm while he went through his exercises for the fourth time that day, insisting he did them before drinking any more wine in case it dulled his senses. Athos and d'Artagnan were sat quietly side by side across the table from the pair.

“I often look at you,” d'Artagnan replied, smiling.

“Looking is not watching,” Athos answered.

“You watch me all the time," he teased.

“I do,” Athos shrugged, not bothering to deny it. “You don't often watch me like that,” he added, searching d'Artagnan's face.

“I... I hate to see the pain in your eyes when we talk about deceptive women. I hate that she hurt you so much and I hate that it still hurts you,” d'Artagnan answered honestly, taking Athos' hand.

Athos flicked his eyes to the door before pressing a soft kiss to the back of d'Artagnan's hand.

“I love you for that,” he said quietly. “I'm sorry that it upsets you, though.”

D'Artagnan shook his head sadly, a bitter chuckle sounding alien in the youthful voice.

“D'Artagnan?” Athos said quietly.

“You're sorry that it upsets me. You're so... unbearably noble.”

“Unbearably?” Athos asked, his lips twitching into a smile.

“You think nobody else can see your pain,” d'Artagnan said softly, stroking Athos' knuckles with his thumb, not to be deterred. “I see it.”

Athos stared in silence at d'Artagnan. He prided himself on the control he had over his facial expressions. It wasn't entirely borne out of his experiences since Anne. Most of it was his years of training in the nobility.

“It's OK. Nobody else sees it, Sir,” d'Artagnan whispered. He saw the way Athos' eyes flicked to their friends, still engrossed by the exercises.

“You honour me when you let me see the beautiful light in your eyes so I see and I notice when it goes out,” d'Artagnan murmured. “When you shut it away behind those grey doors. I see them slam closed and it's your way of shutting everyone out, which I understand but I also know that you're shutting the pain in.”

Athos remained silent but he could feel a burning in his chest beginning as though d'Artagnan's words had lit a fire in his heart.

“But not me,” he whispered, continuing. “You don't need to shut me out. I won't push you, Athos but know I see it and wish to share it.”

“Nobody should share it,” Athos said quickly, flinching.

“A problem shared is a problem halved, my Uncle used to say. I might not be able to half your problems but you don't need to suffer alone Sir,” d'Artagnan said.

Athos squeezed his hands gently and rose to his feet, pulling d'Artagnan with him. He tipped his hat in silence to Porthos and Aramis who both nodded and they left without another word.

Aramis and Porthos shared a slightly bemused glance, not having heard any of this conversation. Aramis was stood to Porthos' left, under his arm, supporting most of his weight. Porthos was leaning increasingly on Aramis as he made large bicycle motions with his right leg. More of his weight was leaning on Aramis as his left leg, the one with the cracked knee, was beginning to tremble.

“You good?” Aramis asked.

“Hurts,” grunted Porthos, through gritted teeth.

“Only four more,” Aramis urged.

The hand on the back of Aramis' shirt tightened and he listened to Porthos' ragged breathing as he forced himself through the last four circles.

“Good, good,” Aramis said quietly.

He eased Porthos back three small steps and carefully lowered him into a chair. He drew the footstool close and sat down, drawing Porthos' feet into his lap and gently massaging his calves.

“Fuck,” Porthos muttered.

“Getting worse?”

“Yeah. Isn't the point of these that they're supposed to get easier?” Porthos asked.

“Four times in one day has obviously made them a little sore but it should be easier tomorrow,” Aramis soothed. “What do you think that was about?” he asked, nodding back to where Athos and d'Artagnan had been sitting.

“Didn't catch any of it,” Porthos said. “I'd guess, though, that Athos is realising that he doesn't have to be alone.”

“He's not alone,” Aramis said, frowning. He cast a look towards the door.

“You gotta stop that, Sire,” Porthos said, tiredly.

Aramis' head snapped round at the tone. He lifted an eyebrow in question but Porthos had tipped his head back and couldn't see.

“Stop what, if I may ask? Caring about him? Being there for him?”

“Thinking he's in love with us,” Porthos answered.

Aramis glared and Porthos seemed to feel it because he lifted his head up and smiled sadly.

“Look, Aramis. I'm not saying he feels nothing for us and I'm not saying we don't love 'im in our way but we're not... we're not in love with each other,” Porthos said.

“He is not just some strumpet we have picked up on our travels and will sleep with whenever we feel like,” Aramis said angrily.

“Oh,” Porthos said, softly.

“What?” Aramis asked, sharply.

“You... That's how you see yourself.”

Aramis blinked. Porthos' tone was confusing and he was peering at Aramis as if he were a painting where you don't quite know what you're seeing.

“Help me up,” Porthos said quietly.

Aramis scowled but complied with the request. They made their way back to their room slowly and in silence. Porthos was still in a lot of pain and leaning heavily on Aramis, who was just confused. Porthos sat down on the bed and gently pulled Aramis to sit beside him.

“You really think that's the only two options,” Porthos said, quietly.

“What? Options about what?”

“You think you need to either love someone deeply and have a relationship with them or it's meaningless, shallow sex,” Porthos said, searching Aramis face. He nodded to himself when Aramis flinched.

“We all know I don't love anyone as I love you but that doesn't mean I don't love others,” Aramis said, looking away.

“Oh, love,” Porthos breathed. He wrapped an arm around Aramis' shoulders and pulled him close. “You can have sex without romantic love, you know.”

“I know,” Aramis snapped, pulling out of Porthos' embrace.

“No. You don't,” Porthos said, understanding flooding his voice. “You think... because of your past...”

“It's called making love for a reason,” Aramis said, cutting Porthos off.

“You think there's something wrong with you for sharing yourself without love,” Porthos stated.

Aramis opened his mouth to reply and then closed it thoughtfully. They sat in silence for a few minutes until Aramis managed to find his voice again.

“I know I'm more free with my physical affection than most,” he said quietly. “I've made my peace with being something of a hedonist but that doesn't mean I fabricate an illusion of love with everyone I spend time with. There are women I see whom I do love and there are women I see that I definitely do not. Please don't think I fool myself into believing there is a romantic relationship between myself and any of them, especially those I know I do not love,” he continued, his temper beginning to flare up again.

“I know that, love. What of Athos, though? He's somewhere in between,” Porthos asked, soothingly.

“What do you mean?” Aramis asked, his frown returning. “I love the man as I would love my own blood.”

“As we love Tréville,” Porthos said, nodding.

“Exactly.”

“But we don't fuck him,” Porthos said boldly..

Aramis stared in shock at Porthos for a few seconds.

“Unless you actually want to fuck him and haven't told me,” Porthos added, shrugging.

Aramis burst out laughing and playfully punched Porthos in the arm. To his surprise, though, Porthos just laughed and pulled him into a hot, deep, wet kiss. He felt a white hot flash of desire and moaned softly against Porthos' mouth. He felt the familiar rumble of answering desire in his lover and climbed onto his lap, wrapping his arms around Porthos' neck. Within seconds he'd taken control of the kiss, pressing his tongue deep into his lover's mouth and his hands in the curly hair.

A sharp gasp of pain broke his concentration and he realised he was sat on Porthos' knees. He quickly hopped off, leaving Porthos panting slightly and reaching for him.

“I apologise, mi vida,” Aramis said, his own voice shaking slightly. “Bad?” he added, crouching to examine them.

“Sire,” Porthos groaned hoarsely.

“Answer me, please.”

“Yes Sire,” Porthos answered reluctantly, huffing in annoyance.

“Oh don't be like that,” Aramis teased, removing Porthos' boots.

“I am tired of my legs stopping us every time things get interesting,” Porthos grumbled.

Aramis laughed quietly and removed Porthos' hose. He stood and gestured for Porthos to do so as well. When he did so, Aramis stepped close and began divesting him of the rest of his clothes.

When his heavy doublet hit the floor, Porthos raised an eyebrow and reached for Aramis. The marksman just batted his hands away and began unlacing Porthos' breeches.

“You're wearing your 'I'm up to something face',” Porthos commented.

“Am I?” Aramis asked innocently as he tugged Porthos' shirt off.

“You are.”

“What does that look like?” Aramis asked, unlacing Porthos' underwear and pushing them down to drop on the floor, leaving his lover naked.

“Remarkably like your normal face actually,” Porthos said drily.

Aramis laughed and stroked a hand down Porthos' chest lightly.

“Lay down,” he said softly.

With Aramis' help, Porthos was arranged until he lay in the centre of the bed on his back. He felt a wave of vulnerability as Aramis, who was still fully dressed, ran his eyes up and down his naked body.

“Definitely up to something,” Porthos said nervously.

Aramis just smiled and continued to admire Porthos' body. His eyes raked hungrily over his well shaped arms, the muscled chest. His mouth watered, seeing the V of his torso, ribs hidden by the block of muscle. He took in the shape of his hips, the thick muscles of his thighs, the still present swelling on his knees, down to his calves. Even they were muscled and shaped as if carved by the most skilled artist.

He dragged his eyes back up to Porthos' pelvis and stared hungrily at his groin, his generous manhood laying against his thigh, beginning to thicken under Aramis' gaze.

“Aramis,” Porthos said, staring up at the hungry look in his lover's eye.

“Mmm?” Aramis asked.

“Coming to bed?” Porthos asked, laughing.

Aramis tilted his head and considered the naked man before him. He was fidgeting, unusually uncomfortable with Aramis' gaze.

“Hands up,” he said quietly.

There was a faint tremor of hesitation before Porthos slowly drew his arms up and lay his hands either of side of his head. He closed his eyes against the increased level of exposure, the subtle shift being enough to undo his bravado.

“Thank you,” Aramis murmured.

He continued to pace around the bed, slowly undoing and removing his own belts and accoutrements. Porthos' eyes had opened again and were watching him nervously. Aramis unwound the long sash from around his waist and lay it gently across Porthos' eyes.

“Sire?” Porthos whispered.

“Shh. It's OK, boy. I have you. Just concentrate on me,” Aramis soothed, stroking the back of his fingers down the side of Porthos' face.

"I can't, Sire. Not... Please... Not the dark, please," Porthos said, panic rising in his throat.

Aramis smiled inwardly at the fact that Porthos had made no move to dislodge the sash himself.

"It's a reminder to keep your eyes closed, mi vida. That's all," he said quietly. He continued to slowly stroke Porthos' face.

"Sire," Porthos whimpered.

"OK. It's OK," Aramis murmured, removing the sash.

"I'm sor-"

Aramis placed a finger over Porthos' lips to cut off the apology.

"Not necessary, mi vida. We'll work on it. Will you try and keep your eyes closed for me?" he whispered.

"Yes, Sire," Porthos answered quickly.

Aramis could see the agitation in the way he held himself and simply trailed his hand up and down Porthos' body. He was murmuring softly in Spanish, soft whispers that although he didn't know the words, comforted and soothed Porthos. Several deep breaths later and Porthos had relaxed enough to start arching into the gentle touches of Aramis' hand over his body. He was stroking gently across his chest, his stomach, back up over his clavicles, his throat, down his arms. Porthos sighed contentedly.

“Good boy,” Aramis murmured.

Porthos smiled, listening to the familiar sounds of Aramis shedding the rest of his clothes and he could feel himself beginning to thicken at the promise of things to come.

He groaned when Aramis settled himself on Porthos' lap, moving slightly further down than before to sit on his thighs.

“OK?” he asked, reaching back and tapping Porthos' knee.

“Tight but manageable,” Porthos answered honestly.

Aramis rocked forwards and then back again, intentionally pulling at the skin on Porthos' thighs.

“OK?” he asked again.

“That hurts a lot.”

Aramis shifted off of Porthos' body and stretched out beside him. He chuckled at the exasperated huff and stroked his hand gently across Porthos' stomach.

“Your still hurting from the long day. I've no interest in causing you pain,” Aramis said quietly.

Porthos grumbled playfully and Aramis chuckled. He dug his nails in and drew them savagely across the soft skin of Porthos' skin, drawing a soft cry of pain from the big man.

“I've no interest in causing your knees pain,” Aramis amended, his voice dropping. He stroked the tips of his fingers across the red lines his nails had left and felt Porthos shiver beneath the touch.

“Sire,” he breathed uncertainly.

“Yeees?” Aramis asked slowly.

“I'm... I'm nervous,” Porthos admitted, a frown marring his features.

Aramis raised himself slightly and kissed Porthos gently, using his free hand to cradle his face. He appreciated the honesty. Normally these kinds of nerves excited them both... The uncertainty, the flirting with danger, the delicious taboo of intentionally tipping over the pain and pleasure line. Porthos' eyes were still closed, though, so it seemed it was light nerves and not genuine trepidation.

“Remember the first time we were together,” Aramis said quietly, stroking across Porthos' chest. “We loved each other but hadn't gone further than a quick fumble.”

Porthos nodded without replying, arching his body to press into Aramis' hand.

“Even then. Even in that moment, before we'd defined our relationship, before we'd made ourselves one, before you called me Master... You gave yourself to me. You let me hurt you. You wanted me to hurt you,” Aramis said softly.

Porthos nodded in silence, listening to Aramis' hypnotic, quiet voice. He cast his mind back to that day. They'd lain in Aramis' bed, just as they were now. Aramis' hand had been stroking across him, like it was now. At the conclusion of that time, his skin was covered from neck to hip in little lines of fire, just as his stomach was now.

“Do you want me to hurt you now?” Aramis asked, the tips of his fingers tracing the angry red lines on his stomach.

Porthos opened his mouth to answer and closed it again, frowning. He tried again and made a soft noise of frustration.

“Porthos?” he prompted gently.

“I don't know,” Porthos answered.

"Look at me," Aramis whispered. Porthos complied to find Aramis' face hovering just above his own, black eyes full of calm concern. “What don't you know?” he asked, stroking Porthos' cheek.

“I want... you. I need... I need your wants,” he answered with difficulty.

“You have no preference?”

“No... It's not... I want your preference,” Porthos corrected.

“You want to let me decide?” Aramis asked, his voice dropping back into its silky seductive tone.

“No,” Porthos muttered in frustration. “I want.. more than that. I want... I want you to do what you want and just... Fuck. I'm sorry.”

“Shh. Shh, it's OK,” Aramis soothed. “You want me to use you for my own pleasures?”

Porthos nodded emphatically and closed his eyes in relief, grateful that Aramis had understood the difference.

“Then relax and I will do just that,” Aramis murmured. “Close your eyes, close your mouth and just feel.”

  
  


  
  


  
  


A couple of very satisfying hours later, the fire was burning low in the hearth and Aramis had lit one of the candles beside the bed. He hadn't been able to reach the other as Porthos' head was laying in his lap. He was still trembling slightly, his stomach and chest a map of red trails. His cock was still semi-hard, Aramis sticking to his promise of not letting him release until they were home.

Aramis was stroking Porthos' curls idly and singing softly in Spanish. He was feeling remarkably satisfied. He'd managed to use his nails to distract Porthos from the pain in his knees and had ridden Porthos until he was very... Well... He was feeling very satisfied.

He admired the man stretched out before him. There were several places on the smooth expanse of skin where the skin had broken and blood was visible. The deep brown eyes opened and he smiled up at Aramis.

“I love you, Master,” Porthos said quietly.

“Mmm. As I love you,” Aramis replied.

“You haven't let your nails grow that long in more than a year. I'm going to be feeling you for days,” Porthos said, slightly smug. He arched his back and hissed, relishing the pain.

“Mhmm. I'm going to feel you for a while, too,” Aramis replied, leaning his head back against the wall. He shifted deliberately, causing his lover to laugh loudly.

Porthos turned his head and kissed Aramis' bare thigh.

“You know the drawback to withholding release means I don't go to sleep,” Porthos remarked.

Aramis had closed his eyes and he chuckled lightly.

“So it means I haven't forgotten about what we were talking about,” Porthos pressed.

At this Aramis looked down and raised an eyebrow in question.

“You're clinging to Athos. You gotta stop, Sire. You have it in your head that because you love him and sleep with him it must be proper deep romantic love,” Porthos said, nuzzling into Aramis' hand, which had stilled.

Aramis resumed stroking the curls thoughtfully.

"Are you hoping that by nagging me I will see the benefit of giving you post-climax sleep?" he teased.

Porthos just laughed quietly and Aramis could feel the rich vibration in his legs.

“So... Your contention is... what?” Aramis asked thoughtfully.

“I think you're assuming we're in a deep, loving relationship with him and that's why you're struggling with him being close to d'Artagnan,” Porthos said, boldly.

“I'm not jealous! I'm happy for him,” Aramis protested.

“I know, Sire. I just... You share yourself for love and for fun. Athos is somewhere in between and you can't cope. You think of people as one or the other,” Porthos explained. “He's someone you love but we sleep with him for something outside romantic love. So it's not love but it's more than fun.”

“I know,” Aramis said, frowning.

“Your head knows. Your heart doesn't. I think that's why you're being so... possessive over Athos,” Porthos said quietly.

“I'm being possessive?” Aramis asked, startled.

“A bit. You're... you're not trusting d'Artagnan to look after him,” Porthos said hesitantly.

“You warned him, too,” Aramis pointed out.

“I did. I didn't tell d'Artagnan we don't want to hand him over.”

Aramis' frown deepened and he continued stroking Porthos' hair thoughtfully.

“I... I have a valid point,” he said quietly.

“You do, Sire. I share those concerns, too. You aren't giving him a chance, though. You're... Sire...” Porthos trailed off and looked up uncertainly.

“Say it. I need to hear it, I think,” Aramis said softly.

Porthos felt a swell of love for the man above him. He didn't want to hear the things Porthos was saying but he trusted him, anyway. The faith he had in him was absolute and Porthos realised he had the same faith in Aramis.

“You're acting as if Athos is yours and d'Artagnan is trying to take him from you,” he said boldly.

Aramis' hand stilled again and he gazed into space.

“I'm sorry, Si-”

Porthos' apology was cut off by Aramis raising his hand, his way of demanding silence. Porthos frowned but kept quiet, watching Aramis carefully.

“How do I let him go?” Aramis asked after a while.

Porthos blinked in surprise. That hadn't been what he was expecting and he wasn't sure how to answer.

“I think, Sire... We just... We treat him like our friend. We do what we can to help, we provide what he needs and listen to what he wants,” Porthos answered slowly.

“And d'Artagnan?”

“We help him. We show him. We... We stop treating him like a threat to Athos,” Porthos suggested.

Aramis sighed deeply and resumed stroking Porthos' hair.

“I... I hate that I've done that. I hate that I might have made him feel unwelcome. I never meant for it to come across that way but...”

“Hey, hey. Aramis. Hey,” Porthos said, nudging his head into Aramis' stomach to stop him talking. “You'd do the same for anyone you love. I think we'll get to that point with d'Artagnan himself, eventually.”

“I love you,” Aramis said, his face breaking into a sudden smile. “You always tell me the truth. It's never just what I want to hear. Do you know what that means?”

“I appreciate it from you as well,” Porthos said, grinning.

“No, no. You miss my point, mi vida. It means that I can be certain when you tell me you love me, when you tell me you're mine, when you tell me you want to please me, when you tell me you want me to use for my own ends instead of meeting what you want... I know you're speaking the truth,” Aramis said.

Porthos nodded and turned his head to kiss Aramis' leg again.

“So when you tell me you're desperate to spend, that you need to release, that you're being driven mad by the need... I know it's true,” Aramis said softly.

Porthos groaned, the words going straight through him to form a hot pool of desire in his lower stomach.

“And yet, my love, you haven't said it,” Aramis said.

Porthos rolled his head back to look up at Aramis, seeing the mischief in his eyes.

“That makes me think I need to try harder,” he murmured, gently shifting out from under Porthos' head to stretch out beside him again.

“Sire,” Porthos protested, reaching for Aramis' hand.

“Shh. Still and quiet,” he reminded.

Porthos nodded and settled his hands down at his sides, clenching them into fists as Aramis' hands again began to wander.

 


	69. Chapter 69

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos shows his appreciation for d'Artagnan's sensitivity.

D'Artagnan followed Athos down the hall to their room, frowning. He wondered if he'd over stepped by telling Athos to share his problems. His concerns were immediately quelled when, seconds after closing the door, Athos turned to him, lifting his head only a fraction but enough for d'Artagnan to see his eyes under the brim of his hat. His eyes were full of heat and they raked up and down d'Artagnan's body in a manner that could only be called hungry.

“Athos?” he asked, grinning.

Athos didn't respond and began to advance on d'Artagnan slowly.

“Sir?” d'Artagnan asked, lifting his eyebrows suggestively as Athos drew closer.

Athos still said nothing as he stalked closer, still staring from beneath the brim of his hat.

“Papa?” d'Artagnan asked uncertainly as Athos finally reached him.

Athos removed his hat with one hand and the other was thrust into d'Artagnan's hair, pulling him close for a deep, hard kiss.

D'Artagnan nearly lost his balance with the sharp yank on his hair but was held steady by Athos' other arm wrapping around his upper back and pulling him close. He gave a yelp of surprise and then suddenly gasped in pain when Athos bit his lip harshly.

Athos took the opportunity to thrust his tongue aggressively into d'Artagnan's mouth and backed him up the few steps to the bed, only breaking the kiss in order to throw him onto the bed.

“Bloody hell, Athos,” d'Artagnan panted, even as Athos crawled onto the bed on top of him, covering his body.

“Such mouth,” Athos murmured in a low voice before claiming d'Artagnan's lips in another fast, furious kiss.

His knee came up between d'Artagnan's legs and he pressed hard. The Gascon moaned loudly and Athos moved his mouth to the side of d'Artagnan's neck and began pressing short, sharp bites against his skin.

“Athos, Athos, stop!” d'Artagnan gasped.

“Don't want to,” Athos murmured but after a few seconds he did raise himself up onto his forearms to watch d'Artagnan.

“Thanks,” d'Artagnan said, panting for breath.

“Nice to know I can still overwhelm you,” Athos said, inclining his head.

D'Artagnan laughed.

“That you definitely can,” he said, grinning.

“Feeling calmer?” Athos asked.

“I am,” d'Artagnan answered, smiling softly.

“Oh good,” Athos murmured and immediately lowered his mouth back to the man's neck.

D'Artagnan had a fleeting thought that this was what it must be like trying to make love to a hurricane. Athos was everywhere. His hands, his lips, his tongue, his teeth... They were flying across the skin of his neck and his throat faster than the Gascon could keep track of. As soon as d'Artagnan began to enjoy a particular sensation, Athos moved on. He had no Earthly idea how the man had managed to strip d'Artagnan down to his smalls, only becoming aware of his increasing state of undress when Athos seemed to be thwarted by the knot on his braies.

“You have thirty seconds to get these off before I rip them from your body,” Athos growled against d'Artagnan's ear, his teeth nipping lightly.

D'Artagnan laughed breathlessly and attempted to undo the knot while Athos held himself up and away from his body. After several unsuccessful tugs Athos growled again but didn't prevent d'Artagnan quickly wriggling out from under him to stand by the bed, using the candlelight to see by.

“This is ruining my plans,” Athos said, drily from where he was reclining on the bed.

“Your being fully dressed is ruining mine,” d'Artagnan replied without looking up.

Athos raised an eyebrow and drew himself to his feet. He smirked when d'Artagnan's hands froze and he slowly began to undo his belts.

“Let me,” breathed d'Artagnan, reaching for him.

“Oh no. You work on your own. I wouldn't want to ruin your plans,” Athos said softly, smirking again.

D'Artagnan licked his lips and watched, open-mouthed, as Athos slowly began to undo his doublet. The man was moving deliberately slowly, drawing the heavy leather off his body and moving to carefully fold it over the back of a chair. When he turned back to d'Artagnan, the skin at the opening of his shirt was visible and the Gascon let out an audible groan.

“Athos,” he said quietly, his voice taking on a definite pleading tone.

“D'Artagnan,” Athos mimicked, amused.

The younger man groaned in frustration and closed the distance between them in three quick strides.

“You're awful,” he moaned, pressing himself against Athos and trying to kiss him again.

The Musketeer simply gripped him by the upper arms and held him at arm's length.

“Do you **want** me to rip your clothes off?” Athos asked, looking pointedly down at the underwear d'Artagnan was still wearing.

“Always,” d'Artagnan answered, grinning.

Athos raised an eyebrow before yanking d'Artagnan sharply against him and claiming his mouth in another brutally hard kiss. His teeth nipped at d'Artagnan's lips while his hands were like vices around his upper arms.

D'Artagnan moaned against Athos' mouth and tried to get even closer to him, rubbing against him like a cat in heat. He felt Athos' hands finally release their painful grip on his arms but one arm snaked around his waist, holding their bodies close together. He stumbled as Athos suddenly started walking him backwards toward the bed again.

Abruptly he was span around and thrown face first onto the bed. Before he had a chance to react, Athos landed on him, pressing his body down into the bed. His entire body settled atop d'Artagnan's, pressing him face down into the bed.

“You had better hold still,” Athos murmured into d'Artagnan's ear.

“Easier said than done,” d'Artagnan replied, wriggling beneath Athos.

The older man didn't reply but d'Artagnan let out a small gasp when the tip of Athos' dagger pressed into his waist.

“Athos?” he whispered.

“My bad boy was warned,” Athos said quietly. “Ripping seems like such a lot of effort.”

“No... I... God... Athos... Please, Papa,” d'Artagnan panted.

“Please what?” Athos asked, nuzzling his nose against d'Artagnan's ear.

“I... overwhelmed,” he gasped.

Athos simply hummed his approval and remained where he was. He moved the knife away from d'Artagnan's skin but left his body weight fully on top of him.

“Papa,” d'Artagnan whimpered.

“Shh,” Athos murmured. “You're not overwhelmed this time, my beautiful boy. You're just feeling out of control.”

“No, I- Huh?”

“How eloquent,” Athos said softly, pressing a kiss beneath d'Artagnan's jawline.

D'Artagnan laughed again and squirmed beneath Athos' body.

“There's a difference between your being overwhelmed to the point of unable to process what's happening and simply losing yourself in sensations. This is the latter. Give in to them,” Athos elaborated, still nuzzling the back of d'Artagnan's ear.

D'Artagnan groaned when Athos suddenly bit his neck again and his hips lurched involuntarily, pressing himself up against Athos.

“Dirty boy,” Athos murmured.

“Oh God,” d'Artagnan moaned, turning his face so the bedclothes swallowed most of the noise.

“So... One last chance for this item of clothing to be removed before I rip them to shreds and you will have to make do with one pair of under garments until we return to Paris,” Athos said, nuzzling into the back of d'Artagnan's hair.

D'Artagnan quickly tried to get his hands under him to once again attack the infernal knot on the offending smalls but a short sharp bite on the back of his neck stopped him in his tracks.

“No, no. I think we've given you enough opportunities to do it,” Athos said in what could only be called a purr. “With the way you're writhing beneath me, moaning and panting, I suspect we can't run the risk of having your hands anywhere near there.”

D'Artagnan moaned again and couldn't stop his body rippling under Athos' at the words. There was a smug chuckle from the other man and it made d'Artagnan's cheeks flame.

“Up onto your knees,” Athos murmured, pulling back onto his own as he spoke.

D'Artagnan positively trembled at the instruction but slowly did as he was bid, pulling his knees under him, raising his bottom into the air. He barely had time to consider the image he presented when he felt Athos' hands at the laces on his braies beneath him. Seconds later he felt Athos slice through the knot in a single stroke of his dagger.

Athos tossed the knife down to the floor and squeezed d'Artagnan's hip reassuringly.

“Knife gone, darling,” he said softly. “Do you want to lay flat?”

“What do you intend to do?” d'Artagnan asked, his voice shaking.

“I intend to fuck you with my fingers,” Athos answered honestly, stroking the back of d'Artagnan's thighs.

The Gascon squirmed at the uncharacteristic profanity and rocked slightly on his knees, pressing back into his hand.

“I'm good here,” d'Artagnan whispered, hiding his face.

Athos' hands moved up and slowly drew d'Artagnan's underwear down. He could feel the younger man instantly tense as his bent over position left him so exposed to Athos' gaze. A small whimper came from him when his already hard cock sprang free and Athos left the material pooled at d'Artagnan's knees. He began to stroke d'Artagnan's bare buttocks in wide soothing motions. He smoothed his hands over the tanned skin, down his flanks and back up, beginning to massage into the muscles gently.

Slowly d'Artagnan relaxed, under the motions. Athos' hands were sure and strong and each time they were like this, he became more and more familiar.

He couldn't stop, however, the gasp of surprise when Athos' fingers began to spread oil around his entrance.

“OK?” Athos asked softly.

“Yes, Sir,” d'Artagnan gasped. “Just surprised.”

“Surprised?” Athos asked drily, never ceasing his motions. His fingers were circling slowly, pressing against the ring of muscle, feeling them gradually relax beneath his digits.

“Yes,” d'Artagnan laughed. He realised how ridiculous that was since Athos had been on him like a dark storm since the second their door had closed.

“Yet you want this,” Athos remarked.

“Oh God yes,” d'Artagnan moaned. “Want you,” he added in a whine.

“And here I am,” remarked Athos.

“I want you,” d'Artagnan repeated

“Tell me,” Athos said, pressing his index finger gently into d'Artagnan.

“Oh, oh,” he panted, utterly beyond words.

Athos smiled at the quivering form before him and began to rhythmically move his finger in and out of the man. He listened to the short gasps and moans from him and added a second finger in short order. D'Artagnan moaned loudly into the pillow and Athos watched him clasp his hands for a second. He thought for a moment he'd gone too far but the Gascon immediately relaxed and let Athos press further into him.

The Musketeer felt another swell of emotion for d'Artagnan at the amount of trust he put in Athos. Not just that simple act of not letting himself tense but being so honest, so open. He let Athos see everything, the wants, the fears, the doubts, even the bits that made his face flame so beautifully. He didn't even hide that.

“Athos,” d'Artagnan panted, breaking his train of thought.

“Mmm?” Athos asked, twisting his fingers playfully, eliciting a loud moan that was, thankfully, muffled by the bedclothes.

“Athos,” he repeated, the word little more than a whine.

“I'm listening,” Athos said quietly, increasing the pace of his fingers, pistoning them in and out in a regular, determined pace.

“Athos,” d'Artagnan moaned, his hands fisting in the sheets as he began to press back against Athos' hand.

The older man felt a tightness in his throat as he realised d'Artagnan wasn't saying his name to get his attention or to ask for anything... It was just the only thing he could think of. Athos' free hand came up and gripped his hip tightly, holding him steady, even as he added a third finger.

“Athos. Athos,” chanted d'Artagnan, feeling his muscles stretch and accept Athos' digits.

All he could think of, all he could feel, all he could sense was Athos. The pillow he was using to muffle his cries smelled of Athos, his fingers were making his muscles ache but in such a good way. It made a deep thrumming desire build in his stomach. Even the position he was in, face and shoulders pressed into the mattress, hips and bottom in the air, offering and opening himself up for Athos.

“Oh God, Athos!” he cried, feeling the man's fingers brush against a bundle of nerves inside him.

Athos rose up on his own knees and leaned over d'Artagnan, covering him with his body. He braced his weight on one hand beside d'Artagnan's head while continuing to thrust his three fingers in and out of him.

“Please Athos, please. You. I need you,” d'Artagnan chanted. “I need you to fuck me. Please!”

His desperate begging was met by a soft chuckle in his ear that made his cock throb.

“You should see yourself,” he murmured. “Arse in the air, begging me to fuck you.”

D'Artagnan moaned and bucked beneath Athos' body.

“Please, please. Please, Athos,” he panted, unable to deny it.

“Not until we're in Paris but by the stars, do I love seeing you honestly and shamelessly begging for it,” Athos hummed. “It proves to me that you're just a desperate, dirty little boy.”

D'Artagnan moaned again, Athos' soft determined, slightly mocking voice making his cock throb so much it hurt.

“I bet even now you're thinking about that dirty little cock of yours, aren't you? I bet you want to spend,” Athos whispered, his lips brushing d'Artagnan's ear.

“Yes. Oh God, yes. Please, Papa. Please may I touch myself?” d'Artagnan begged in a whisper.

The way Athos was folded over his body was almost too much to bear. He was surrounded and overwhelmed and those insistent, determined fingers were still moving in and out of him at such a fast pace. He was dimly aware that the ache in his muscles was gone and they offered little to no resistance.

“No,” Athos said firmly. “Nor will I touch you.”

D'Artagnan moaned in frustration and writhed beneath Athos, unable to gain much movement with his weight pressed across his back.

“I think you're enough of a wanton, filthy little boy to get off on just my fingers in your arse,” Athos murmured darkly.

D'Artagnan moaned loudly at the coarse language from such an eloquent mouth but even as he said the words, he felt the throbbing in his cock turning to something more as his stomach began to tighten.

Athos smirked, feeling d'Artagnan suddenly clench around his fingers and knew his words had the desired effect. He hadn't been sure this would work. He'd seen Porthos and Aramis do it often enough but he'd never managed to come without some sort of stimulation to his penis. He twisted his fingers on his next stroke and curled them forwards to press against that bundle of nerves.

“Fuck!” d'Artagnan cried, bucking almost violently.

Athos did it again and d'Artagnan's cry was almost pained so he held still for a moment.

“Boy?”

“Too much Papa,” d'Artagnan panted, his fists gripping the sheets tightly.

“OK,” Athos replied and straightened his fingers.

He resumed moving his fingers in and out but made sure to only brush lightly across the bulb of nerves on each stroke and the effect was instant.

D'Artagnan's back arched slightly, offering himself up even more and his breath came in short, sharp gasps.

“That's it, my beautifully filthy boy,” Athos murmured, teeth grazing over the Gascon's ear. “Show me you can spend without even a single touch to your cock.”

“Papa, Papa,” d'Artagnan chanted, his entire body beginning to shake.

Athos managed to reach d'Artagnan's fingers with the hand he was resting his weight on and was pleased when d'Artagnan gripped it in return tightly. It appeared that grounding contact was all d'Artagnan needed and his body began to buck beneath Athos' as he found release.

The Gascon turned his face into the mattress and let it drown the long, low moan that was drawn from his lips. Athos' fingers inside him were relentless, drawing every last ounce of pleasure from him and by the time he had begun to come down, he felt like a damp rag with all the water wrung out of it.

Athos chuckled and gently withdrew his hand, listening to the half-hearted murmur from d'Artagnan, unsure if it was gratitude or protest. He found the rag he'd placed beside the oil and quickly cleaned his hand. He gently took a hold of d'Artagnan's hips and tried to roll him gently onto his side. The over tired body, however, simply collapsed and Athos chuckled again.

He stretched out beside the prone form of d'Artagnan and lifted his arm expectantly. The Gascon was too far gone, though, so Athos simply stroked his back while he came back to himself. After a few seconds, however, d'Artagnan began to shake.

“Hey. I'm here,” Athos soothed, trailing his hand in the sweaty mass of black hair. D'Artagnan, however, began to rise.

His arms were shaking violently and were unable to support his weight so Athos pressed a hand down between his shoulder blades to still him. Instantly, he relaxed and Athos smiled to himself.

He rolled onto his stomach and lay a heavy arm across d'Artagnan's back, pinning him to the mattress. He did the same with his leg across d'Artagnan's and smiled at the soft sigh of contentment the shift brought from him.

Athos smiled peacefully. He should have thought of that. He knew from experience how jarring it could be to have a particular sensation taken away. Porthos often used his strength and body weight to hold Athos in position and on the occasions he had to withdraw suddenly it was always upsetting. What was surprising, however, was that Athos felt no urge to berate himself for not realising.

Normally any sort of falter or mistake would have that nasty little voice in his head telling him he was useless but not today. He'd realised and fixed it and every thing was well. He tilted his head to look at d'Artagnan but he was facing the other way.

After long, long, minutes d'Artagnan shifted and groaned unhappily.

“OK?” Athos asked quickly.

“Wet,” d'Artagnan grumbled, turning his face to Athos.

“I tried to turn you onto your side but you sort of collapsed,” the Musketeer said gently.

D'Artagnan chuckled and leaned forwards expectantly. Athos obliged and kissed him softly. Gradually they both shifted on the bed until they were laying face to face and Athos slowly deepened the kiss, cradling d'Artagnan's jaw.

It wasn't long until he rolled d'Artagnan onto his back and the kiss grew more heated. This wasn't the searing fire of earlier but it still blazed beneath their skin and Athos' fingers dug into d'Artagnan's jaw. He growled into d'Artagnan's mouth and suddenly broke away.

D'Artagnan was, again, panting for breath and when he opened his eyes Athos' normally steady eyes seemed to be burning out of his face. He opened his mouth to say something but Athos lowered his head again and kissed him fiercely.

When, after several more minutes of this bruising kissing, Athos broke away, he smirked down at d'Artagnan. The man looked utterly debauched. His hair was all over the place, thick with sweat. His lips were red, swollen and possibly bruised. His legs were sprawled untidily and he was wearing a dazed facial expression.

“Papa,” d'Artagnan mumbled.

“Yes?” Athos asked, searching d'Artagnan's face.

“I still want...” he trailed off.

“I know,” Athos smirked. “I did tell you not to stop trying.”

D'Artagnan blushed and reached up to trail his hand over Athos' arm.

“I want to learn what you like,” he said, nervously.

Athos peered down at him thoughtfully. They'd grown increasingly close but only a couple of times had he allowed d'Artagnan to pleasure him. He was still very conscious about letting his guard down while they were technically on a mission.

“Sorry if I'm being too pushy,” d'Artagnan said, seeing the hesitation. He raised one of his hands and began to stroke the skin at the opening of Athos' shirt.

“You aren't, but thank you for saying so,” the older man said. He dipped his head and kissed d'Artagnan gently. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well I loved... the... when you... your...”

“Breathe puppy. Breathe,” Athos murmured.

D'Artagnan inhaled and exhaled slowly but began to laugh when Athos started suckling on the skin on his throat.

“You make it incredibly hard to calm down, Sir,” d'Artagnan panted.

“Mhmm,” Athos murmured, biting softly on the tender skin.

D'Artagnan groaned and shifted restlessly, unsure what it was Athos wanted.

“You tell me what you want and I'll think about it,” Athos said, quietly. “Until then, I will just amuse myself.”

D'Artagnan laughed again but it quickly began a groan when Athos' tongue flicked across his ear.

“I want... I... I want...” he panted.

“Greedy boy,” Athos murmured, making d'Artagnan laugh again.

“Papa, I would like,” he amended. “I would like to, please Papa, I would like to taste you.”

Athos stilled his kissing and licking against d'Artagnan's neck and slowly lifted his head to look at him. His eyes were surprisingly soft and d'Artagnan licked his lips nervously.

“If you... Only if... I didn't mean...”

“Shh puppy. Shh,” Athos soothed.

D'Artagnan nodded and followed Athos' slow breathing until he, too, was calm.

“Are you certain?” Athos asked, gently.

“Goodness, yes!” exclaimed d'Artagnan. “I want nothing more than to be with you in every way.”

Athos chuckled and kissed him slowly. His mind was flashing back to a conversation weeks ago where d'Artagnan shamelessly listed all the acts he wanted to do. Gradually he deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring d'Artagnan's mouth slowly but thoroughly.

When Athos finally pulled away, d'Artagnan felt like Athos had managed to kiss all of his bones out of him and his entire body had turned to jelly. He touched his tongue to his lips and they felt bruised and swollen.

“Is that a yes?” he asked, shakily.

“Not tonight,” Athos whispered. “Tonight I am intent on having you.”

“But I... Please,” d'Artagnan whispered.

“Greedy puppy,” Athos murmured.

D'Artagnan chuckled and raised his head to kiss Athos again, moaning happily when Athos met him eagerly and pressed him back down against the bed, a soft groan vibrating through them both.

“I could kiss you all fucking day,” Athos breathed.

D'Artagnan moaned softly and arched his back to try and press against Athos.

“How is it, Sir, that when you swear it... does things to me,” he whispered.

“Things?” Athos asked, propping himself up again

D'Artagnan blushed and turned his face away. He heard Athos chuckle softly and felt him shifting on the bed beside him.

The Musketeer propped himself up on one elbow and the other and began to roam across d'Artagnan's smooth skin. His hand trailed across his stomach, skimming over the still damp skin, and up and over the man's ribs.

D'Artagnan whimpered and felt blood rush immediately rush south. He found the fact that Athos was still dressed utterly intoxicating and made him feel increasingly vulnerable. The tissues around his entrance were still pleasantly tender and, though he could scarcely believe it, he was already beginning to thicken against his leg.

“So greedy,” Athos murmured, his hand moving up to d'Artagnan's chest. He rubbed across the nipples and smiled as they came quickly to hardened points.

“Papa,” d'Artagnan gasped.

“What is it?” Athos asked, slyly.

“Oh pleeease,” he whined.

Athos smirked. With the exception of the non-sexual choking incident, he hadn't done anything but pleasure d'Artagnan since well before they arrived in Dijon. The last time he had indulged d'Artagnan's desire for pain had been in the forest.

“Please what?” Athos asked feigning innocence.

“You know what, Papa. Please, please,” he panted.

“Maybe. I think you want to be punished and hurt,” Athos said, smoothing his palm back and forth across each nipple.

“Yes. Yes, please Papa,” d'Artagnan moaned.

“Why?”

D'Artagnan opened his eyes and stared at Athos in confusion. The Musketeer simply smirked down at him.

“You told me you wanted to be punished, you wanted the shame... How can I know it will be effective if you can't tell me what it is I'm punishing you for?” he asked calmly.

“For... For... greed?” d'Artagnan asked in a small voice.

“Correct. Now ask me properly,” Athos said softly.

“Please... Papa... Please punish me for being greedy, Papa,” d'Artagnan managed to whisper.

“Good boy,” Athos murmured.

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


A long while later, d'Artagnan was stretched out on his front with Athos straddling the back of his thighs, massaging his shoulders slowly. He'd denied the offers and requests from d'Artagnan to reciprocate and was simply enjoying the body beneath him.

“Mmm, that's nice,” d'Artagnan hummed. “So what's made you quite so.. determined?”

“Determined?” Athos asked, leaning forwards to nuzzle against d'Artagnan's ear.

“It's the most polite word I can think of for your... aggression tonight,” d'Artagnan said, looking over his shoulder.

“You see me,” Athos said, quietly.

“Hmm?”

“You see so much more in me that anyone else does. I put so much effort into shutting people out but you... you see me,” Athos said quietly, continuing to smooth his hands over d'Artagnan's skin. “I don't know if it's simply because you love me that you look harder or whether it's because I love you that I let you see more. I just know that you're looking out for me and I wanted to look after you.”

“Just not give me what I want,” d'Artagnan pointed out, smirking over his shoulder.

Athos rose up on his knees and d'Artagnan rolled over beneath him before Athos settled back down. The older man ran his hands across d'Artagnan's chest, smirking when he hissed in pain, his nipples still painful and over sensitive.

“I gave you two orgasms and met your desperate begging request for the pain. You're so ungrateful,” Athos remarked.

“I want you,” d'Artagnan insisted, grinning cheekily up at him.

Athos groaned and bent down to kiss d'Artagnan again. They were growing tired and so Athos rolled them sideways and they kissed slowly. He hadn't been lying when he said he could do this all day. D'Artagnan's lips were soft, plump and positively addictive.

"You have me," Athos murmured, without breaking contact between their mouths.

"I love you," d'Artagnan whispered in reply.

Gradually, the kiss dissolved into small affectionate pecks on the lips and small nuzzles into each others necks and slowly, in the small hours of the morning, they fell asleep in each other's arms.

 


	70. Chapter 70

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porthos still isn't sleeping and it has consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit D/s heavy. Any questions, my e-mail is at the bottom but please believe me when I say it's very healthy :)

“Are you OK?” d'Artagnan asked, looking at his friends.

Porthos had gone through his exercises and while he was still suffering the painful after effects, Aramis had managed to get him to agree to breakfast in the upstairs parlour but they were both very quiet.

“We're just tired,” Aramis answered, speaking for them both.

D'Artagnan nodded and nudged Athos when Porthos stretched.

“Too high, Aramis,” Athos said quietly, noticing the same as d'Artagnan.

“Hm?”

“Too high,” Athos repeated, nodding at Porthos.

“Told ya,” Porthos said, rolling his eyes.

Aramis surveyed Porthos carefully, who obligingly raised his chin to reveal the tips of red lines where his nails had been. They were too distinct to be passed off for anything else unless there was a stray cat in the inn.

“Oops,” Aramis said, shrugging.

Porthos grunted into his bowl and Aramis frowned. Before he had a chance to address it, however, a maid entered to inform them that Captain Tréville would be joining them for lunch with the Marquis de Sennecey at an hour after noon.

“So what do we do until then?” asked Porthos, moodily pushing his food around.

“You have your exercises,” d'Artagnan said, brightly.

“Great,” Porthos muttered. “That'll fucking hurt.”

“I was thinking we'd invite Madame Truyart for supper again,” Athos said thoughtfully.

“Still trying to keep her visible to the Marquis so he doesn't back out?” d'Artagnan asked, shrewdly.

“Yes. My impression of the Marquis is that he didn't consider the impact on individual's lives this mess was having. The more aware of that we can make him, the better,” Athos said.

“From what Captain Colier was saying, though, they want to start the salon tonight. Won't he need to be there to make it believable?” d'Artagnan interjected.

“True. He'll see her arrive here at the very least and besides, we're to be kept out of sight,” Athos inclined.

Porthos snorted and pushed his bowl away. Athos cast a glance to him but he was staring moodily at the table and didn't notice. He looked up at Aramis who met his eyes briefly before frowning at Porthos again.

“Right,” said d'Artagnan slowly, trying to ignore Porthos' increasingly grumpy demeanour. “So... When it does all start up, we stay out of sight and then.. we make the arrest when we've proved she was behind it all?”

“I believe Captain Colier has men that he trusts to get close enough to hear the truth and they will make the arrest,” Athos corrected.

“Then we'll return her to Paris?” d'Artagnan asked.

“Yes. She will be tried in Paris. The damage she has done stretches far beyond the boundaries here and the... prominence of her victim requires a somewhat more authoritative court,” Athos explained.

Another derisive scoff from Porthos made Athos open his mouth but Aramis had already stood up. He watched in silence as Aramis closed the parlour door with a loud clunk and stood with his back against it.

“Porthos,” he said quietly.

Porthos turned his head to look at Aramis and scowled.

“Aramis,” he echoed, an unfriendly mocking tone seeping in.

“On the floor, please,” Aramis said softly.

Porthos' eyes grew hard and he flicked his gaze meaningfully to Athos, who was watching without expression, and d'Artagnan who was quite unashamedly staring with an open mouth.

Aramis waited a few seconds.

“Porthos,” he repeated.

“After breakfast,” Porthos said, turning back to the table.

Athos winced and reached out with his hand to squeeze d'Artagnan's thigh gently, having felt the man move.

“Porthos,” Aramis said for the third time, his voice still gentle.

“Not here,” Porthos answered without turning around.

“Why not?” Aramis asked, still leaning against the closed parlour door.

“Private,” Porthos said, shrugging, still not looking at Aramis.

“If you will act like a petulant child in front of them, you will be brought to heel in front of them,” Aramis said, sharply.

D'Artagnan hissed in a breath at the change in tone. The temperature in the room seemed to drop dramatically and the hairs on his arms stood up. Even though Aramis hadn't raised his voice whatsoever, the clipped, sharp tone was like nothing he'd heard from the man before. Porthos, too, seemed to recognise the shift but instead of giving in like d'Artagnan expected, his jaw clenched.

“We're supposed to be private,” Porthos said through clenched teeth.

“Right now, I don't care,” Aramis answered.

“Fine. Sorry, Athos,” Porthos said, mockingly.

Athos made no answer and simply tightened his grip on d'Artagnan's knee to stop the man reacting. The silence in the room was heavy and he could feel d'Artagnan beginning to grow uncomfortable. He could see, however, their friend growing more and more tense at the table opposite them while Aramis stood absolutely still.

“What do you want?” Porthos snapped, finally turning to look at Aramis.

“I asked you to sit on the floor,” Aramis said, returning to his soft voice.

Porthos stared daggers at Aramis and Athos could see the heat in his cheeks from being exposed like this in front of others.

Abruptly Porthos shoved his chair back from the table, stepped into the open space between the table and Aramis and with a loud growl of pain, flung himself to the floor, stretching his legs out in front of him.

Aramis began to slowly circle him, looking down at him pensively.

“Happy now, are you? Happy showing me off? Showing how powerful you are?” Porthos sneered.

“Happy? Goodness, no. Somewhere between waking up and eating breakfast I have acquired and surly, disrespectful, moody lover,” Aramis replied, stopping behind Porthos.

“Think it's gonna get better by lording it over me like this?” Porthos asked, angrily.

“That's not what I'm doing,” Aramis said, quietly.

Athos took the opportunity while their friends were both looking away to turn to d'Artagnan. He held a finger to his lips, signalling for d'Artagnan to remain silent and, when the Gascon nodded, squeezed his knee again. D'Artagnan, however, grasped Athos' hand between both of his own and held it tightly.

“Isn't it?” Porthos snapped.

Aramis crouched down behind Porthos but didn't touch him.

“No. I saw you were unhappy and that something was wrong. I was going to ask you to sit on the floor beside me while we finished our food to try and calm you down. I know you're not sleeping and I was hoping you would find it restful,” Aramis said quietly. “I got up to close the door to **give** you privacy.”

D'Artagnan winced at the sadness in Aramis' tone. The disappointment was clear in his words but he sounded almost hurt by Porthos' actions.

“Coulda told me,” the seated man grunted.

Athos watched his friend growing more and more uncomfortable. The anger had dropped from his voice, too, leaving a sheer stubborn mutter. His eyes had closed and he had clearly realised what a massive mistake he'd made.

“You could have asked. You could have used everything you know about me to realise what I was doing. You could have politely voiced your concerns. You could have obeyed,” Aramis countered.

His voice hardened with each suggestion until again, it was like solid ice. D'Artagnan gripped Athos' hand tightly, feeling more than ever like they shouldn't be here.

“Sire,” Porthos said in a broken whisper.

It appeared while his eyes had been closed his mind had been racing and he'd realised what he'd done. Athos returned the squeeze on d'Artagnan's hands, knowing that seeing Aramis metaphorically twist the knife while Porthos was broken like this could upset him.

“Quiet,” snapped Aramis.

D'Artagnan, however, understood perfectly well what Aramis was doing. Now that Aramis had made it through Porthos' stubborn defences, he could allow himself to be angry. Watching Aramis begin to pace back and forth behind where Porthos sat, and having seen Aramis' temper in action, he found himself suddenly afraid for Porthos. He looked at Athos, who was perfectly calm, and forced himself to relax a bit.

“As for my showing you off. My lording it over you. Showing how powerful I am,” Aramis continued sarcastically and d'Artagnan watched Porthos wince at the biting tone. “The two people with us in this room are the only people who know the extent to which I am responsible for you. Your sitting there being disrespectful to Athos is something I tried to stop in its tracks. You, however, decided instead of giving me the authority and the ability to try and stop your bad mood, you would take it out on me.”

Athos squeezed d'Artagnan's hand again, recognising the way Porthos had screwed his eyes closed.

“You showed me up in front of them, Porthos. You sat there and dismissed everything I am to you. I might put up with your playful banter when others are around. I even encourage it. I do not, however, allow you to ignore a direct command in front of **anyone** ,” Aramis continued, his own voice beginning to shake. “In five years I have **never** given you a direct order you couldn't follow. I have given you instructions in front of the Captain and you've always, always followed them. You've always known I pick my timing, my audience and my instructions carefully to protect both of us. Yet today you decided you knew better?”

“No Sire,” Porthos whispered, without opening his eyes.

“I said quiet,” Aramis said sharply.

Although his voice had gotten quiet again, there was a deadly edge to it that made d'Artagnan feel increasingly nervous. His hands were trembling around Athos' but he drew comfort from the still form of his lover and the comforting squeeze of his hand.

“You decided, Porthos. You didn't make a mistake. You didn't misread my signals. You didn't notice something I didn't that meant following my instructions would do one of us harm. You decided not to obey me for no other reason than you're in a shitty mood and decided that was more important than your promise to me, more important than me,” Aramis continued, cursing in his anger.

Porthos was also beginning to shake and this time even d'Artagnan recognised it as suppressed tears. Every word Aramis said seemed to cut into Porthos like a knife and he seemed to shrink under each word as if they were a blow from above.

“You made the conscious decision to prioritise your insistence to remain miserable above my wish for you to sit by me. You didn't trust my decision making. You didn't even consider I might be doing it for your welfare. You **know** that's my priority but you decided to disregard that,” Aramis said, coming to a halt directly behind Porthos again.

He crouched behind Porthos and when he spoke, his voice had dropped and it was as cold as ever but even d'Artagnan could recognise the burning anger underneath.

“As for why I am doing this in front of them,” he said in a low voice. “You showed me up in front of them. You know they know I am responsible for you. You know that they are aware that your behaviour is, at least in part, down to me. When you choose to behave like that, you know it reflects poorly on me. When you choose to do so in front of people who know about us, you are **telling** them that I am, at best ineffective but more than that, you just don't care.”

His last words came out as an angry hiss and d'Artagnan gripped Athos' hand all the tighter when a tear began to roll from each of Porthos' eyes.

“You know I'm angry, Porthos. You know I'm disappointed in you. Do you know how **hurt** I am? How much it pains me that you didn't trust me at all. That you decided to do all that. Even if you didn't do it maliciously, you didn't consider me. You didn't care,” Aramis said, his voice softening.

A silent sob shook Porthos' body and d'Artagnan bit his lip. He remembered the few times Athos had given him a dressing down or the Captain and how sick it had made him feel. He could only imagine how bad Porthos was feeling having **hurt** Aramis like this. He wanted to comfort the man more than anything, remembering how alone those telling offs made him feel.

Aramis stood but stepped around his lover and quickly crouched again, straddling Porthos' legs, blocking his face from Athos and d'Artagnan's view. They did, however, hear Porthos' whisper.

“I'm so sorry, Master. I shouldn't... I'm sorry,” he croaked.

“Thank you,” Aramis murmured.

He stood again and d'Artagnan saw him lay a hand on Porthos' head, bowing it forwards. Aramis retook his chair and turned to the others, looking at d'Artagnan expectantly.

“Are you OK?” he asked, his voice not as steady as normal but perfectly friendly.

“I'm... startled,” d'Artagnan answered slowly. “I would like to talk to Porthos about it when he's able.”

“That might not be for a couple of days,” Aramis replied.

“Days?” d'Artagnan asked, horror-struck.

“You misunderstand me,” Aramis answered, smiling. “I do not punish him for his bad decisions. He and I spend time addressing what caused them. Until that process is complete, I don't know that he will be able to answer your questions. I also won't allow you to talk to him about it without me until that process is complete.”

“Allow him,” d'Artagnan murmured, frowning. He got a warning squeeze from Athos at his reaction.

“Yes,” Aramis said, perfectly calm. “He and I have spent years making sure we are on the same page. In times of turmoil, we work only from the same book. Once he and I are satisfied the root cause is at least mostly fixed, he'll be free to talk about it with whomever he likes.”

D'Artagnan nodded slowly but he was utterly unable to take his eyes off Porthos who was still sat with his head bowed, small shakes in his shoulders making it clear he was still silently crying.

“May I ask why you want to talk to him? I suspect it is not to draw parallels to your own relationship,” Aramis said, pouring himself a glass of water.

“I want to make sure he's OK,” d'Artagnan said boldly, lifting his chin.

“He will be OK before lunch,” Aramis answered. "I give you my word. He is upset but not harmed in any way."

“Why aren't you comforting him?” d'Artagnan asked accusingly.

“I will. When he needs it,” Aramis answered, flicking his eyes to the silent man. “Right now he is coming to terms with what he did, sorting through it in his head and trying to identify what pushed him from annoyed to flat out defiant. He isn't ready for me to comfort him yet. When he is, I will do so.”

“How do you know?” he asked.

“This isn't the first time. It's been a very long time since we were here but it isn't the first. Neither of us are perfect. He and I both get things wrong and we both hold responsibility for them,” Aramis answered, still watching Porthos who had stopped crying and was now sat in silence, not having moved his head from where Aramis left it.

“Does he get to tell you off like that when you get things wrong?” d'Artagnan asked.

“No,” answered Aramis, turning back to him.

“That doesn't seem fair,” he scoffed.

“D'Artagnan,” murmured Athos, speaking for the first time since Aramis had stood up. He gave d'Artagnan's hand another warning squeeze.

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “That was out of line. It's not my place to decide what's fair in a relationship that's not mine.”

“Thank you,” Aramis said, inclining his glass towards d'Artagnan. “Anything else? Questions, comments, concerns?”

“You're happy for me to keep asking?” d'Artagnan asked shyly.

“I am,” Aramis said. “I apologise if I made you uncomfortable, by the way.”

“Surprised and startled, not uncomfortable,” d'Artagnan answered. He could feel Athos' eyes on him and knew without looking there would be a disapproving look in them for his slightly less than honest answer.

“Then ask away,” Aramis said.

“You didn't shout?”

“I rarely do. He doesn't need me to shout at him to know I'm upset. I'm rarely angry at him, to be honest. I would say nine out of ten times he and I have these moments it's a genuine mistake and I don't get angry at them,” Aramis answered, shrugging slightly.

“Will you... No. It's fine,” d'Artagnan began but stopped.

Athos squeezed his hand and nodded reassuringly while Aramis just smiled.

“It's OK. You can ask. I can always decline to answer,” he said kindly.

“Will you punish him?” d'Artagnan asked, staring at his hands where they were wrapped around Athos' in his lap.

“No. We don't operate that way,” Aramis said quietly. “In our experience what makes Porthos wilfully act out is feeling insecure about our place to one another. By using a sort of punishment we run the risk of that becoming the way of reassuring each other. That's not the point of our relationship.”

D'Artagnan nodded thoughtfully.

“You seem unhappy with my answer,” Aramis said gently.

“Oh! No. Sorry. Thank you for answering it's just... I like that idea,” he said.

“Does your partner?” Aramis asked, tilting his head towards Athos who nodded without speaking. “Then what's the problem?”

“Isn't it... What you say makes sense so does that mean that we're doing it the wrong way?”

At this Aramis gave a quiet laugh.

“There's no wrong way, d'Artagnan. Relationships, no matter whether they're friends, romance, work, servants, any of them. They're all different. I have a different relationship with you than I have with Athos. I have a different relationship with Porthos than you do. Athos has a different relationship with the Captain than I. The Captain has a different relationship with the King than you,” Aramis explained.

“Yes but our relationships are... they share a common facet,” d'Artagnan said.

Aramis turned to watch Porthos who was still silent and hadn't moved a muscle.

“True, my friend, but I believe our relationships are very different as well. Just because we have unequal power dynamics doesn't mean they're the same. I've watched you two and I don't think you belong to Athos like Porthos does to me so why would you think he should... mould you the way I do him?” Aramis asked without turning from Porthos.

“So it's not unusual or... incorrect somehow that I... I still...”

“Want to play up to him?” Aramis supplied, turning back.

D'Artagnan laughed and nodded. He risked a glance to the almost silent Athos who smirked back at him. He felt a slight shiver at the promise in those piercing eyes and was almost grateful when Aramis stood up so he had an excuse to look away.

He watched the marksman crouch in front of Porthos again and they shared some words d'Artagnan couldn't quite hear. Whatever Aramis asked, Porthos had nodded slowly.

“Athos, will you help me a moment?” Aramis asked.

Athos stood and moved smoothly to Porthos' side. With Aramis' help and direction, they helped Porthos stand and gently sat him back down on the floor beside Aramis' chair. The two Musketeers retook their seats and d'Artagnan watched with a great leap of affection for his friends as Porthos leaned his head against Aramis' thigh. Almost immediately, Aramis' hand came down to settle on the back of Porthos' neck.

“I actually wanted to talk to you about something, gentlemen,” Aramis said, breaking d'Artagnan from his reverie.

“Go ahead,” Athos replied, stretching his legs out in front of him.

“I wanted to apologise to you both. D'Artagnan especially,” he said boldly.

“To me?” asked d'Artagnan, utterly startled.

“Yes. It has been brought to my attention that I am being somewhat more possessive over Athos than he deserves. While I won't apologise for trying to protect him from harm, I feel I've been too willing to let him take the risk,” Aramis said, stroking Porthos' neck gently. “I realise now that my role as Athos' friend is to simply point out my concerns and allow him to make the choice.”

“You don't need to apologise to me for that,” d'Artagnan said, looking between Aramis and Athos.

“I need to apologise to you for... I've underestimated you, d'Artagnan. I have... I have seen Athos when he's hurting and I became too over protective towards him, to the point I have slighted you,” Aramis insisted. “You love him, that much is clear. The change that came over him when you returned this week was wonderful to see. You do him more good than you realise, more good than I realised, and I should not have implied you would be unable to take care of him.”

D'Artagnan stared at Aramis in silence. After a few seconds, Aramis looked down at Porthos and began to stroke his hair.

“Thank you, Aramis,” Athos said, making d'Artagnan jump.

“You'd noticed?” Aramis asked, looking up.

“I hadn't, actually," Athos said, slightly amused. "I think I'm so... protective of that part of me that I hadn't actually... I hadn't really dealt with the idea of d'Artagnan seeing me that way so I think...” Athos trailed off. He took a deep breath and turned in his chair to face d'Artagnan.

“I cheated and I hid behind Aramis' insistence that he was the only one who should look after me and didn't confront the issue,” he said, staring intently at d'Artagnan. “I honestly don't know what will happen, what could happen, what I will respond to, what you will feel comfortable with, but I apologise for not realising how essential you are.”

D'Artagnan felt himself blushing under the intense gaze and simply nodded, accepting Athos' words.

“I apologise to you, d'Artagnan, for treating you as if you were a threat,” Aramis said formally. “To you, Athos, I apologise for treating you as if you were mine.”

“I don't feel it ever went that far, Aramis. I thank you for saying it, all the same,” Athos said, inclining his head.

Aramis returned the gesture and looked down at Porthos.

“If you don't mind, gentlemen, we will retire. I believe my Porthos could do with a rest for a while,” Aramis said quietly.

“I understand. We're going to walk over to see Captain Colier,” Athos said. “Do you need any help?”

“No. He'll be fine now. Thank you,” Aramis answered.

D'Artagnan looked like he wanted to say something but Athos took him by elbow and steered him out of the room.

“Don't you think... Shouldn't we...” d'Artagnan began.

Athos didn't answer but just pushed d'Artagnan into their room and closed the door behind him.

“Three things,” he said.

D'Artagnan blinked in surprise and, when Athos pointed, took a seat in one of the chairs.

“One, I am so proud of you for, again, coping with a new situation remarkably well. I will be speaking to Aramis for not giving either of us a chance to leave but regardless, you handled yourself beautifully,” Athos said, coming to one knee at d'Artagnan's feet.

“I couldn't have done it without you,” d'Artagnan answered honestly, taking Athos' hands in his.

“Two, and this is more difficult for you, I accept. Porthos is his. He belongs to Aramis. He is Aramis' to do with as he will. If for a second I ever thought Porthos was truly coming to harm, I would step in. You saw the way he leaned into Aramis afterwards. You saw the way it was Aramis' hurt feelings that made him upset. You need to stop trying to check on Porthos without Aramis' influence. It's an admirable thing you're doing and with anyone else we meet, it's an intelligent thing to do but they **trusted** you, d'Artagnan,” Athos said, his voice low and fierce.

“I didn't mean to upset them,” d'Artagnan protested.

“I know, puppy. I know. You're trying to do the right thing. Correct me if I'm wrong, however, but it was Porthos who finally told you he belonged to Aramis. It was Porthos who told you Aramis was responsible for his behaviour. By trying to talk to him separately in order to ascertain whether he's consenting is implying that he is either too stupid to know otherwise or Aramis is somehow a nefarious villain that's brainwashed him,” Athos continued. “You do him a disservice by implying either of those things. He trusted you with a great secret, telling you what he did. Aramis trusted you with something huge today. Please try not to reduce that by making your own assessments.

"The two of them trusted you with this additional knowledge of their relationship and you scoffed at it d'Artagnan. You meant well and they know that but they trust us to trust them. It's a healthy, functional relationship and they love each other more fiercely and more thoroughly than we will ever be able to understand. They trust us to trust them. Please don't disrespect their relationship by implying they need you to look after them. He **belongs** to Aramis, not you."

D'Artagnan thought for a moment and soon saw the sense in Athos' words. It was going to be hard to trust that everything was fine but he presumed it would take some getting used to. He took a deep breath and nodded. Athos nodded with him and his eyes narrowed. D'Artagnan sucked in a breath, feeling like he was about to be told off as well.

“Third and finally, you must stop talking about punishment because it just makes me remember you sprawled beneath me, begging me to punish my dirty little boy,” Athos said, his voice low.

D'Artagnan gasped loudly and shifted in his chair as a sudden bolt of arousal shot through him. His nipples had still been tender when he'd gotten dressed that morning and with Athos' reminder they seemed to suddenly begin throbbing again. He saw Athos' eyes seem to darken with arousal and he licked his lips.

“I guess you weren't effective, Papa,” d'Artagnan said, raising his eyebrow.

Athos drew himself to his feet and looked down at d'Artagnan.

“Hands behind your back,” he murmured, fingers already unlacing d'Artagnan's doublet.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry... Athos still can't keep his hands off d'Artagnan ;)


	71. Chapter 71

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Porthos and Aramis discuss their disagreement, plans for Mademoiselle's downfall continue.

“Master?” Porthos whispered.

There was no answer so Aramis must still be asleep. Porthos pressed his head back into the pillow and grimaced. He had a throbbing headache. Crying always gave him a headache and crying on top of barely sleeping was worse. One of his arms was trapped beneath the napping form of Aramis but he raised the other and pressed hard against his temple to try and ease the pressure. When that didn't help he sighed and closed his eyes, trying to block out the light.

His eyes flew open again as his knees both gave a sudden painful throb, as they seemed to every time he closed his eyes. He bit his lip to swallow a groan of frustration. He was so pathetic. It wasn't the first time one or more of them had been taken and it was hardly going to be the last. Why was he being so dramatic about it? And why was he being such a bastard to Aramis? When he'd sat on the floor for him, both when they were working the other day and today, he'd rested fine. Both times his eyes had drifted closed and he was fine. Because Aramis had put him there. Aramis was looking after him.

He didn't always though, Porthos thought with a scowl. He hadn't for the past few months. It had just been slightly power skewed sex, that's all. They'd just been living together. Going through the motions.

How true was that, really? They'd both been saying that, blaming that and both been trying to remedy it but in all honesty... **had** they fallen out of it?

Porthos frowned and thought back to their interactions since welcoming d'Artagnan. After Charon... Porthos had taken care of Aramis but he... It was service, wasn't it? It's what you do for the person you love. He couldn't resent Aramis for that.

But since they'd left Paris... Even before... When they found out about Savoy... Aramis had kept Porthos' temper in check well enough. But Porthos had still been taking care of Aramis. The entire time.

He pressed the heel of his hand into his eye in frustration. How could he keep doing this? Did he really resent Aramis for needing the support of his other half. That was an awful thing to do. What kind of awful person expects the person they love to drop all their own burdens to just devote themselves to their lover who wasn't struggling nearly as badly?

“You'll blind yourself,” Aramis murmured.

Porthos lifted his hand and blinked repeatedly, clearing the spots. He turned his head to look at Aramis who was smiling sadly at him. He stretched against Porthos' side for a moment before propping himself up on Porthos' chest to watch him.

Porthos eyes were still red and Aramis wasn't sure any more it was from crying or just sheer sleep deprivation. He'd been trying to avoid giving Porthos a sleeping draught but based on what he was seeing, he might have to do so tonight.

“Is the not sleeping part of the cause?” Aramis asked.

“A minor part, Sire. I think it just made me snappish. It's not... Only a minor part,” Porthos admitted tiredly.

The worst of erring was over but it didn't make this part any more pleasant. The examination, the reasons, the explanations. He knew at this point that Aramis had forgiven him so this was meant to be a positive, what-not-to-do-next-time but it was always uncomfortable as each of them had to identify their faults.

“It's related, though,” Porthos sighed. “I... There's a part of me that's angry that you haven't fixed me yet and I get that's unfair, I do. But the other part of me, the part that flared up this morning and the part that won't **let** you fix me, is angry that... that... I've had to look after and fix you so much and now when I really needed you... you couldn't help me.”

Aramis nodded as best he could with his chin on his hands. His forehead was creased into deep thought lines.

“I'm annoyed that you haven't fixed me but I don't... I don't trust you to do it, either. And I get it, Sire. You couldn't. We thought you were dying. You couldn't even sit up. I couldn't walk. I get it. I really get it, I just... I needed you,” Porthos said, his voice falling to a whisper.

“Oh mi vida,” Aramis breathed. “We have been a victim of circumstance. Things just keep building and building and we can't take a day for ourselves. We were ready to get out of the city to wash off Savoy but then Truyart. Since then we just haven't stopped. I'm so sorry I've let it slip this far. No, no. I **am** ,” he continued when Porthos tried to protest. “I could have done more on the journey and not let myself get so overwhelmed. I should have identified your invisible struggles here before you got so bad. There was nothing wrong with my mind in those days, Porthos. I could have done more.”

Porthos pressed his lips together, relief washing over him, as it always did, when his concerns were acknowledged. It had taken nearly a year for Porthos to be entirely open about where he felt Aramis had been slacking for fear of being blamed. Even if he didn't always agree, Aramis always listened and never, ever, mocked his feelings.

“I will remind you, however,” Aramis said, smiling. “I told you I was expecting this.”

Porthos opened his mouth and then shut it again. He felt an increasingly familiar ripple of irritation at Aramis' ability to know him better than himself. He normally welcomed it but this last couple of weeks he was annoyed by it. If he knew him so well, why wasn't he acting on it?

“I see that,” Aramis said, quietly. “I see your annoyance but I need you to do your part at swallowing it when you can. I might be braced for it and I might be expecting it but I won't stand for it, mi vida. You cannot use it as a licence to push back. You are still responsible for your actions and it's your job to tell me you're feeling irritated, resentful or rebellious.”

“You'll just tell me to swallow my pride and do it anyway,” Porthos said quietly.

“Yes. I will. I'll always take notice of the feeling, but yes. I will tell you to obey me anyway,” Aramis said without embarrassment.

Porthos shivered slightly. If he had more energy he might have been slightly ashamed of how relieved that made him feel. Aramis always being the resilient wall against which Porthos couldn't push was part of what made him feel so safe.

Aramis watched his face relax and stretched up to kiss him. He felt Porthos' lips tremble beneath his and he smiled, kissing him gently, chastely.

“How long was I asleep?” Aramis asked, pulling away.

“Less than an hour,” Porthos answered.

“Let's go and see the horses,” Aramis suggested.

“Really?” Porthos asked, surprised.

“Really, really. Some fresh air, a bit more exercise, something productive,” Aramis replied, pulling himself upright.

Porthos pulled himself up to sit on the edge of the bed and smiled weakly when Aramis crouched to help him on with his boots.

“Sire... I feel really... weak,” he admitted.

“Shaky and emotional, still?” Aramis guessed.

Porthos nodded and Aramis rested his forehead against Porthos' knees.

“I'm so tired, Porthos. I want to take you home. I am so done with this.... this mess. It's brought us nothing but misery.”

“I love you,” Porthos said quietly, brushing Aramis' hair back when he looked up.

“I love you too, mi vida. We've always said that we would not let _us_  interfere with our duty but we can't just keep forgetting all about us. We need to find our balance again," he said sadly, pushing himself to his feet.

"Agreed, Sire. You and I matter as well as France," Porthos said, his voice slightly stronger.

"Come on,” Aramis said firmly, pulling Porthos to his feet.

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


Athos smirked sideways from under his hat at d'Artagnan who was prancing uncomfortably the entire way down the street.

“ **Do** stop dancing around,” he said quietly.

“It's your fault,” d'Artagnan hissed.

“You asked,” Athos replied.

“You made me ask,” d'Artagnan murmured.

“I asked you what you wanted. You told me. I did it,” Athos said serenely.

“You're awful,” d'Artagnan laughed.

Athos simply smirked and nodded his head to the entrance to the yard.

  
  


 

They were startled to find Captains Colier and Tréville both present, along with Monsieur Montagne and the Marquis himself.

“My Lord,” Athos said, bowing. D'Artagnan beside him mirrored the gesture. “Captain, Captain,” Athos said, nodding at each of them. “Monsieur,” he said finally, turning a slightly cold gaze on Monsieur Montagne.

He could feel d'Artagnan stiffen beside him but where Athos had turned cold, the blood of Gascony was growing hot seeing him. It appeared neither man had forgiven him for allowing d'Artagnan and Porthos to be attacked.

“Gentlemen,” Captain Colier said, nodding at each of them.

At a nod from Captain Tréville, d'Artagnan found chairs for himself and Athos and they settled between him and Captain Colier.

“Your visit here is fortuitous,” Colier said. “We were just drawing up plans for tonight. Monsieur Montagne here has agreed to be our eyes and ears.”

“I'm sure he has,” d'Artagnan said, peering at the small man.

“How gracious of him,” Athos said drily.

“Yes. It was the least he could do,” Tréville said, glaring across the table at the small nobleman. 

Their Captain was also less than willing to forgive his part in the ambush. For his part, Montagne was looking rather intimidated to be face to face with d'Artagnan again and the glowering Athos did nothing to ease his tension. He continued to flick his eyes to them all morning.

As the midday sun passed overhead, Tréville pushed his chair back from the table and stood. Immediately Athos and d'Artagnan did the same.

“I thank you for your time, gentlemen,” he said, nodding at each of them. “I need to attend to my other men. They have, as I'm sure some of you are aware, been gravely injured in this process. One barely survived and the other may never be fit to serve His Majesty again.”

Athos watched with no small amount of satisfaction as the Marquis and Montagne both blanched slightly. He flicked his eyes to Captain Colier who gave absolutely no indication that Tréville's words were slightly exaggerated. They had no need to know the danger had passed.

“Rest assured, my Lord, Monsieur, should either of you deviate from the plans we have set out or be inclined to inform Mademoiselle Houle, I will make it my personal mission to inform the King of your part in his Musketeer's injuries,” Tréville said, leaning forwards slightly to rest his fists on the table.

“Understood, Captain,” Montagne said, paling still further.

Athos doubted Montagne would ever choose to visit Gascony after his experiences with d'Artagnan and Tréville. He moved his gaze to Sennecey who was watching with pursed lips.

He was a slim man with a pointed, narrow face and bony fingers. He reminded Athos of a younger, less grey and wrinkled, Cardinal. He had the same small eyes that were restless. In their past interactions he'd seemed small and nervous but today Athos saw cunning and arrogance in them.

“My Lord,” he said quietly. “I understand you may be offended by our threat but please, rest assured, it is said in necessity.”

The Marquis looked sharply at him and lifted his chin in a subtle sneer. Athos, having been well trained in how to use this expression himself simply stared back at him, his face utterly still. Sennecey's expression faltered for a moment and Captain Colier jumped on the opportunity.

“Please also bear in mind it is not an empty threat. You may have heard of Captain Tréville's men by another name. Not only are they King's Musketeers, thereby granting them a special kind of regard from the King, but they are also called The Inseparables,” Colier said, leaning back in his chair.

This name did, indeed, have an impact on the Marquis. Whether from general knowledge around court or from his Mother herself, it was unclear, but it was certainly a name he'd heard of.

“Athos, Porthos, Aramis?” he asked in a small voice.

“Two of them you have met,” Tréville said, still leaning menacingly on the table. “It was at the hands of your men they were both wounded. It was as a direct result of your inaction,” he added, turning to Montagne, “the others nearly lost their lives. This information need not reach the Louvre if things proceed as well as they should.”

It was taking all of d'Artagnan's effort not to let his derision show on his face. At the threat of his actions being reported to the King, the Marquis had immediately returned to the small snivelling man he'd met with the Captain. He was reminded forcibly of a child he'd known in Lupiac. He used to bully all the smaller children until d'Artagnan Senior had caught him. As soon as he was faced with his own father knowing what would happen, he'd dissolved into tears. It was pitiful to watch in someone of Sennecey's standing.

“They will,” The Marquis said, quickly. Beside him, Montagne was nodding fervently.

“Good,” Captain Tréville said, standing upright again. “Then we will take our leave. My Lord, we will see you before you leave tonight and again when you return. Monsieur, you know whom to contact if you should need.”

With a last nod to them both, he swept from the room, Athos and d'Artagnan following swiftly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't mess with Tréville's men.


	72. Chapter 72

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain Tréville makes an announcement

“Gentlemen, I've made a decision,” Captain Tréville said suddenly as he ate lunch in the common room of the inn with all four of his men.

“Captain?” asked Athos, glancing up from his stew.

“I'm sending you back to Paris,” he announced.

Silence met his words and it was Aramis who finally managed to speak.

“Before the task is done?” he asked.

“Captain Colier and his men can take over from here. I will be staying on to help them but I don't see what you four can do for the next few weeks while we wait for this to progress,” Tréville said quietly.

“This is our mission, Captain,” protested d'Artagnan.

“It's not. I tasked you with finding out by who killed Truyart. You've done that. You also uncovered a larger illegal ring, which you've assisted local guards in tackling,” Tréville answered calmly.

“Is this because of me?” asked Porthos quietly. “I know I'm not fit but I'm getting better and my mind is still there.”

“Partly,” Tréville said, unable to lie. “Neither you nor Aramis are entirely fit and given how close we came to losing Aramis and the potentially lasting effects of your injury, I cannot risk either of you.”

“Captain,” said Aramis, clearly hurt. “If you think we can't fulfil our duty-”

“Your duty is to the King and to France. Not to Lyons,” Tréville interrupted.

“But that woman,” hissed d'Artagnan, trying to keep his temper in check.

“Will meet justice and she will do so in Paris. If it's justice you want, you will see it done. If it's vengeance you truly seek, I cannot have you here,” Tréville stated flatly.

“We wanna see it through,” Porthos muttered.

“If the Lyons guards let her slip through their fingers,” Aramis said, leaving the warning in his tone hanging in the air.

“I have already stated I will be here. Do you have so little faith in me, Aramis?” Tréville asked, his tone turning more clipped.

Aramis hung his head, accepting the implied admonishment.

“You said **we** would be escorting her to Paris,” d'Artagnan said, frowning.

“Captain Colier and I will be doing that. He will provide an escort of guards and I will send word for some of our regiment to join us on the road,” Tréville answered.

He looked at each of them in turn, awaiting any further questions. His gaze lingered on the brooding Porthos who seemed to be struggling to put something into words.

“Porthos?” he prompted.

“We 'aven't made a difference,” he said, sighing heavily.

“Haven't made a difference?” Tréville asked quietly, his tone gentle. “You found out the truth behind Truyart's death. You rescued his wife. You cleared his name. You uncovered all of this. You've been instrumental in uncovering this ring of hers that's brought misery to so many people.”

“Yeah. We found out who killed 'im. Found his farm wrecked. Couldn't help that poor maid, Phoebe. Killed half their village. That vineyard was completely destroyed, Captain. She's got nothing. No farm, no husband, no income, no home. Doesn't it just feel like all this entire bloody mess has done is destroy more and more people's lives?” he asked, growing angry.

“Porthos,” d'Artagnan said, reaching out and clasping his hand across the table.

“No, I'm serious,” Porthos said, pulling his hand away. He did, however, drop his voice. “Ever since Athos told us about that first mission it's been problem after problem. We were all so bloody chuffed with ourselves that we completed it without a nything going wrong but actually, the entire time we were faffing about in the woods, whole lives were being destroyed.”

There was an uncomfortable silence after Porthos had finished and Tréville looked round at all of his men. The fatigue and dismay on their faces was part of why he'd decided to send them home. It had been weeks since they'd slept in their own beds without this hanging over them and Porthos, especially, needed to relax. It seemed he was getting even worse, though.

“We had no idea any of that was happening,” he said, gently. He lay his own hand on Porthos' and this time the big man didn't pull away. “As soon as we did, we took action and look what a difference you'll make to the people of Lyons.”

“'spose” muttered Porthos, clearly not convinced.

Tréville watched him for a few moments before turning his attention to the one man who hadn't spoken since his announcement.

“Athos?”

“I understand... your reasons for encouraging us to leave Lyons and return home,” Athos said slowly. “I agree that our task here is done.”

“Athos,” protested d'Artagnan and Porthos gave a low grunt of disapproval.

“However,” prompted Aramis, having known Athos long enough to shrewdly guess at least part of his thinking.

“However,” acknowledged Athos with a slight nod of his head. “I do agree with Porthos. Our task was, as you say Captain, to find out what happen to Truyart. We did so and discovered that his entire life, and that of his wife, was pulled apart. Is it your order that we ignore that? Are the wives of our brothers not our sisters?”

Captain Tréville frowned in thought, watching Athos in silence. Long minutes passed as they finished eating. He could feel the tension in his men as they waited for his decision. Clearly they were hoping he would choose to follow Athos' suggestion, what ever it might be. He had to fight a small smile at how willing the three of them were to follow Athos, trusting his plan without even knowing what it was.

“Your suggestion?” he asked finally.

“My suggestion is that we return to Dijon, to the Truyart vineyard,” he said, unexpectedly.

His three brothers all turned to look at him, clearly startled.

“For what reason?” Tréville asked, also slightly taken aback.

“As I said, I agree for your reasons to have us out of Lyons. In all honesty I believe we're going slightly stir crazy, especially if we are to be kept out of sight for the next few days, maybe weeks. I do also believe we would struggle to be objective if faced with Mademoiselle Houle,” he said calmly, still keeping his voice slow as if still thinking as he spoke. “I agree with Porthos that we are not, however, done with this. I believe we can be of some use at the vineyard helping rebuild or at least lessening the damage.”

“You want to rebuild the vineyard?” asked Tréville slowly.

He could feel the growing excitement of the others present as they quickly began to like the idea. He had to admit it had a lot of promise. It would be comfortable and safe enough for Aramis and Porthos to recuperate. They would be useful. It would be an entirely positive project.

“In addition, Captain,” Athos said, interrupting Tréville's musings. “You would have us close enough to join the escort without having to pull any additional men from Paris. Should anything go wrong with the arrest, we would be close enough to assist. I'm also conscious that with the death of the magistrate in the attack, the small farms on the outskirts of Dijon may benefit from a Musketeer presence while normality is gradually restored.”

Tréville couldn't stop the smile this time. Athos' voice had sped up as he gained conviction and evidently continued to think of reasons for his suggestion to be acted upon. Even Porthos was looking hopefully at him.

“Tomorrow afternoon, I expect Porthos and Aramis to visit the Doctor. I want a hand written report from him, clearing you both to travel to Dijon, making sure he's aware you will be sleeping on the ground,” Tréville said firmly. He felt a wave of fondness for the men seated around him as their faces all lit up with his implicit permission. “If he and I **both** decide you are fit to travel you can leave the following morning. You will stay there for a maximum of two weeks. If, by that time, I have not sent word for you to remain, I expect you to set out for Paris and report to Brujon for Palace duty on your arrival.”

“Yes Captain,” d'Artagnan and Aramis said in unison, then grinning at each other.

“May I also make another suggestion?” Athos asked, his own small smile in evidence. “We don't share our intentions with Madame Truyart. I think it would be a pleasant surprise for her to know she has a home to return to when we're done.”

Tréville nodded his acceptance, admiring the sentiment in their plan.

“You are a credit to the regiment, Athos,” he said quietly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter as I'm preparing to go on vacation in a couple of days. I should be able to make one more post before I live but I can't promise I'll post while I'm away. I will definitely be writing though :)


	73. Chapter 73

Once Captain Tréville had taken his leave, the four men went for a short walk around Lyons. Porthos was still limping quite badly so they walked the short distance to the Rhône and found a pile of crates to sit on in a deserted corner.

“You two OK?” d'Artagnan asked.

“We are,” Porthos answered honestly. “I'm sorry if we made you uncomfortable this morning. I guess I just needed Aramis to slap some sense into me.”

D'Artagnan chuckled.

“It didn't seem to go that far,” he said, teasing.

“It never does,” Porthos said shrugging. “I **want** to be there... I just get in my own way.”

D'Artagnan couldn't help the prickle of discomfort that came from watching the way Porthos' eyes flicked to Aramis as he was speaking as if making sure what he was saying was OK.

“D'Artagnan?” Aramis asked, seeing the slight frown.

“I apologise. I just... I'm struggling with the idea that he can't speak freely,” he admitted reluctantly.

“If you were asking questions of me and I declined to answer to protect my relationship with Porthos, would you have the same reservations?” Aramis asked.

“Of course,” d'Artagnan answered quickly. “I don't like the idea of either of you not being able to speak as you wished.”

“And if I asked questions about you of Athos?”

D'Artagnan frowned but before he could answer Aramis asked another question.

“If I asked personal questions about Athos? About emotional secrets he had shared only with you?”

“I see your point,” d'Artagnan conceded quietly.

“You don't agree with it, though,” Aramis said, watching the Gascon quietly.

“It's not the same. He's not refusing to answer to protect your privacy. He's forbidden from answering,” d'Artagnan said, frowning.

He forced himself to take a deep breath at the gentle touch of Athos' fingers against his tail bone.

“I'm sorry, Aramis. It just feels different,” he said honestly.

“It is slightly different. If Porthos were to share something before we'd sorted it out between us, it might inform our decision and lead us down an imperfect path together. Part of my responsibility to him is to protect him, even from his own desire not to upset his friend,” Aramis said serenely.

He smiled at Porthos, seated beside him who bumped his shoulder in reply. Turning back to d'Artagnan he spoke again, more softly.

“I apologised to you for doubting you had the ability to look after our best friend. Please don't doubt me, in return. I implore you to trust me to look after Porthos. I know him better than I know anyone else on this good Earth and I would never do anything to harm him,” he said earnestly, keeping his voice quiet.

“I know that. It's just... it's unfamiliar to me so I'm just... adjusting,” d'Artagnan said slowly.

“We get that,” Porthos said quietly. “We can't... Thanks so much for accepting us, d'Artagnan. I can't tell you... it means so much to us. I don't have the words for how much.”

D'Artagnan smiled and nodded at them both. He felt the fingers on his tail bone flatten as Athos stroked the small of his back in approval. Turning his face to him, however, he found Athos looking sternly at Aramis.

“Next time I would ask that you give us an opportunity to leave,” Athos said in a flat voice.

“I'm sorry,” Aramis said after a beat. “I didn't even think... I saw the problem and I...”

“I understand, Aramis. I understand why you had to stop Porthos in his tracks but once that was accomplished, you could have given us the option of leaving you alone,” Athos said firmly.

“m'sorry,” mumbled Porthos. “If I hadn't been so-”

Aramis' raised hand cut him off and he slumped back against the wall.

“I apologise,” Aramis said, sincerely. He placed his hand upon his heart. “I am sorry for not considering either of you. I am so comfortable around you both it did not occur to me that it might make you uneasy. I considered **his** comfort but not yours. I am truly sorry.”

Athos nodded once and d'Artagnan gave a small smile.

“Ready to carry on?” Aramis asked Porthos.

“I **am** sorry,” he said quietly. “Not just to you but to them. I tried to use them a shield to run from you and that's not fair of our friendship. I'm sorry, brothers.”

D'Artagnan blinked in surprise at this unexpected apology and was about to tell him it was unnecessary but he stopped himself. Phrased like that, he understood. It was akin to using a friend to avoid work. He replayed it in his head; the moment he'd sneered at Aramis for putting him on display, as if their presence would negate his agreement to Aramis.

Slowly, he nodded at Porthos, accepting his apology. The hand returned to his tail bone, stroking him gently beneath the line of his belt. He turned to look at Athos who was also nodding his acceptance to Porthos.

Aramis turned to whisper something in Porthos' ear and they shared a tender smile. A slight raise of Aramis' eyebrows was answered by a nod from Porthos and they both chuckled.

D'Artagnan found himself wondering if he'd ever be able to have that kind of silent conversation with Athos. He was so unreadable to most people but last night he'd said d'Artagnan could read him better than anyone. Was that the same for Porthos and Aramis? Was it just that they knew each other so well or were they just naturally expressive?

“Ready to carry on?” Aramis asked again.

“Yeah. Slowly, though,” Porthos said, getting to his feet.

  
  


  
  


By they returned to the inn over an hour later, Porthos had gone very quiet and was clearly in a lot of pain. He needed a few minutes sat in the common room before he managed the stairs and didn't protest when Aramis suggested a nap. He did falter, however, when Aramis made no move to lay down beside him and Athos and d'Artagnan joined them in their room.

Aramis sat on the bed beside him and leaned down to whisper in his ear. As yet Athos and d'Artagnan were unaware of the extent of Porthos' fears and Aramis was hoping to keep it that way.

“It's daylight and we'll be here talking. Your body is tired enough to sleep so just listen to us, know you're not alone and let your body do what it will,” Aramis murmured softly.

“You won't leave?” Porthos whispered, hating himself in that moment.

“I will be close enough to touch,” Aramis promised. He stroked Porthos' sweaty forehead tenderly before pressing a soft kiss to it.

A few minutes later, Aramis was settled in a chair with his back to the bed. True to his word, he'd moved far enough back that Porthos would be able to reach his shoulder. He could tell by the small crease between Athos' brows that he knew something was going on and he was grateful their friend didn't ask. D'Artagnan didn't seem to notice and was happily chattering about his plans for the farm.

“We're not actually going to farm there,” Athos said gently, trying to rein him in.

“I know, I know,” d'Artagnan said dismissively. “But the house is in fine condition except the doors and the cellar. The only real work is the torched fields and the barn.”

“And you intend to rebuild the barn and clear every single field in two weeks?” asked Aramis, chuckling.

“That's more than achievable. Each of those fields should only take a day to clear with three of us working all day. It's summer so we have longer hours. Based on how many I saw and the typical layout of a vineyard there's probably a maximum of eight fields,” d'Artagnan rushed on.

“Working all day?” asked Athos, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you afraid of a little hard work? Too high born?” d'Artagnan teased, grinning.

“Will that leave the ground ready for planting?” Athos asked, refusing to take the bait.

“No,” d'Artagnan admitted. “The trellises will all be destroyed as well. We'll clear them when we clear the plant detritus. The barn will be trickier. I don't think we're going to get that rebuilt but we should be able to gut it and take out all the debris.”

Athos listened to him talk, increasingly to himself more than the others. He knew this project was going to be d'Artagnan's to lead and he couldn't help being pleased he was going to get a chance to lead them and realise how integral he was to the team.

His attention was caught by a small movement from Aramis. The man had tensed for a moment and then relaxed, his face spreading into a tired smile. Glancing over Aramis' shoulder at Porthos, he could recognise the shift in the man's breathing that signified sleep.

“Everything OK?” he asked quietly when d'Artagnan paused to draw breath.

“Getting there,” Aramis answered.

“I don't mean about this morning. I meant... What's going on?” Athos asked, frowning.

“Please don't worry about it, Athos. The Captain is fully informed and it's getting better,” Aramis said, tiredly.

Athos nodded at him, accepting his word and turned back to d'Artagnan who was looking between them nervously.

“I apologise, pup. Please continue. You were describing what we would be able to do with the barn?” he prompted.

  
  


  
  


  
  


Porthos woke suddenly, midway through a dream. Someone had just thrown him into a deep pit and slammed a heavy door closed on top of it. He gave a strangled cry of protest even as his eyes flew open in the brightly lit room. He tried to stand, sending two lances of pain through his still sore knees and he shouted in pain.

Aramis was up and off his chair by the time the first noise left Porthos' mouth. He was on his knees by Porthos' head and stroking the man's chest firmly when he finally stilled.

“Shh, mi vida. Shh. I'm here. You're safe, Porthos,” he murmured, his other hand coming up to stroke the increasingly untidy curls.

“Aramis?” he croaked.

“Yes,” Aramis said, relief in his voice.

“I'm sorry,” he mumbled, turning away from Aramis.

“Hey. None of that. You did beautifully, mi vida. I'm proud of you,” he soothed.

Porthos took deep breaths in through his nose, trying to calm his breathing. He could feel his heart still hammering in his chest as the adrenaline from his dream worked its way through his system.

When he was calmer, he pushed himself up the bed to a sitting position and glanced uncomfortably at Athos and d'Artagnan who were watching him in silence.

“Sorry,” he grunted in their direction.

“No need to apologise,” d'Artagnan said quickly before anyone else could. “We all have things that haunt us and yours are particularly fresh. It happens.”

“Thanks,” Porthos mumbled, looking away.

Aramis took his hand and squeezed it firmly before standing and rearranging his chair.

“How long was I asleep?” he asked, watching Aramis move around.

“About two hours,” Aramis answered, beaming at him. “We've about another two hours until supper. How are your legs feeling after the rest?”

Porthos experimented with a few flexes of his joints and smiled.

“Much better, Sire,” he said brightly. “Better than before the walk, in fact.”

Aramis smirked knowingly and Porthos rolled his eyes.

“Alright you know it all,” he muttered. “Can we go for another walk before supper?”

“No. I don't want you to overdo it. Another round of Doctor Soyer's exercises but no, not another walk,” Aramis said firmly, standing up.

“How about after supper? Work off some of this food. Lack of exercise, you know... Maybe one or both us are getting... soft... Bit... cushioned around the middle... Maybe you could do with some exercise too?” Porthos hinted, grinning up at him.

Aramis laughed and shook his head at Porthos, helping him to his feet.

“Since when am I easily riled?”

“Do you really want me to answer that question?” Porthos smirked as Aramis settled under his arm to support him while he exercised.

“If you think there is an answer,” Aramis said airily.

Porthos leaned down, whispered something their friends couldn't hear and then gently bit down on the sensitive spot on his neck, just below his ear and at the corner of his jaw.

Athos smirked, seeing the reaction from their marksman. His eyes instantly closed and a shudder ran through him from top to bottom. He turned his head a fraction to share heated glance with d'Artagnan. He jerked his head back to their brothers and they watched transfixed.

Somehow Porthos had managed to twist their bodies around until he was holding Aramis up but without letting go of his neck at all. His arms had wrapped around Aramis' upper body and was holding them together.

D'Artagnan felt his mouth go dry when a low moan came from Aramis' throat. He seemed to have arched his back and wrapped his arms around Porthos, clinging to him.

“Point made, mi vida,” Aramis gasped.

Porthos chuckled in a low voice, nuzzling against Aramis' neck.

D'Artagnan saw his tongue dart out and swipe firmly across the place his teeth had just been, earning another shudder from Aramis.

“You're sufficiently riled now, hmm?” Porthos asked, his voice little more than a low seductive purr.

“Depends what your intentions are Monsieur,” Aramis murmured, pressing the length of his body more firmly against Porthos'.

“To get you to agree to a walk,” Porthos hummed, his lips brushing Aramis' pulse point.

“Not before dinner,” Aramis replied in a breathy voice.

“After?” asked Porthos hopefully.

“Maybe,” Aramis said, laughing slightly.

“Mayyyybe?” asked Porthos before letting his teeth graze across Aramis' neck again.

“Mhmm,” Aramis murmured, baring his throat to Porthos' mouth.

“You know they're watching us,” Porthos said quietly, his eyes meeting Athos' over Aramis' shoulder.

“Are they? Do they look uncomfortable?” Aramis asked, not really sounding interested.

“Not in the slightest,” Porthos replied, smirking at Athos and d'Artagnan.

“Then what were you saying?” Aramis asked, rippling his body against Porthos' again.

“I was asking if you'd like to accompany me on a walk this evening after we've dined,” Porthos said against Aramis' ear.

“Ah yes,” sighed Aramis. “And I wasn't certain.”

“Mhmm. So I'm trying to find enough energy in your tired, unexercised body to do it,” Porthos teased.

“In public, Porthos?” Aramis murmured.

Porthos pressed a hard kiss to Aramis' pulse point, already tender from the bite earlier.

“If necessary,” he rumbled. “They don't seem to mind. They certainly aren't denying that you need the walk. Maybe they've noticed you're getting more padded.”

Aramis laughed and flexed his hips against Porthos' body.

“I thought you didn't beg,” d'Artagnan said quietly from across the room.

Porthos blinked in surprise and he loosened his arms enough for Aramis to turn around but he tugged them tight again, pulling Aramis flush against his body.

“He doesn't,” Aramis said airily. “He makes a suggestion and gets to influence my decision until I've made it.”

D'Artagnan looked at Athos for a moment, wondering if he'd over stepped but the dark look in his eyes was enough to embolden him.

“Sure sounds like begging,” d'Artagnan pressed.

He sensed movement at the corner of his eyes and it was to see Athos shake his head slightly, a smile curling his mouth before he looked down.

“Porthos doesn't beg,” Aramis repeated softly. He tilted his head sideways. “Do you?”

D'Artagnan sucked in a breath as his cheeks suddenly flamed red.

“No,” he said quickly, knowing the crimson colour on his cheeks would betray him.

“Athos?” Aramis prompted.

“A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell,” Athos said quietly.

“As far as I can see a gentleman doesn't kiss, either,” Aramis said, smirking.

Porthos grinned and loosened his hold on Aramis, resting his chin on Aramis' shoulder, moving their embrace into something slightly less intimate.

“Discretion is the better part of valour,” Athos said quietly.

“Are you saying we're indiscreet?” asked Aramis, his hand flying to his chest.

Athos rolled his eyes and gestured for Aramis and Porthos to wrap it up. They both laughed good-naturedly and resumed going through Porthos' exercises. While they were distracted Athos turned to look at d'Artagnan who was still blushing rather beautifully.

“OK, pup?” he asked quietly.

“Just not used to being... talked about,” d'Artagnan whispered, grinning nervously.

“You've seen them kiss,” Athos reminded him. “You've heard them in the woods. You have a lot more ammunition than they do.”

A smile spread across d'Artagnan's face and Athos smiled to see it.

“Just remember, though, I won't defend you if you go too far and they push back,” Athos reminded him.

“I remember,” he said, nodding emphatically.

“If we're not going out,” Porthos grunted, exertion straining his voice. “What are we going to do?”

“D'Artagnan can bring you up to speed on his plans for Madame Truyart's farm,” Athos said.

D'Artagnan's face lit up and within minutes he'd launched back into his ideas, Athos watching him fondly.

 


	74. Chapter 74

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a comfortable meal with their friends, Aramis and Porthos have a moment to reflect and Aramis continues his repairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many D/s. Much filth.

There was a definite holiday atmosphere over dinner. The Musketeers had informed Madame Truyart they were intending to leave in a couple of days. She'd made them promise to visit her at her parent's house for supper the following night to say goodbye.

Athos had, however, witnessed a small uncomfortable moment when the Marquis had been leaving just as Martine arrived. As he'd correctly guessed, though, seeing the face of Truyart's widow seemed to upset him and he'd left with more resolve.

After Captain Tréville had left to escort her home, leaving the four of them alone in the parlour, Athos called for more wine and relaxed back in his chair.

He was watching his friends play cards with a small smile. D'Artagnan and Porthos, who were both quite tipsy, were playfully bickering about whether Porthos was cheating. He looked up when Aramis took a seat beside him and bumped him gently with his shoulder.

“You're happy,” he observed.

“I am,” Athos agreed, mild surprise in his voice.

“It's very nice to see,” Aramis said, refilling Athos' glass.

“You're getting at something,” Athos said, a wry smile curling his lips.

“I was wondering how you're coping with it,” Aramis said honestly.

“You think I have made such a mess of my life that I would disintegrate under happiness?” Athos asked drily.

Aramis simply raised his eyebrows in reply earning a soft chuckle from Athos.

“I am trying my absolute hardest not to let that happen and I'm on the look out for it,” he answered honestly.

“As long as you know you can still talk to us about it,” Aramis said.

“I do and I thank you for it my frie-” Athos began but their attention was drawn by the scuffle on the other side of the table.

D'Artagnan was trying to push the sleeves of Porthos' doublet up to reveal the cards he insisted were hidden there. Porthos' big booming laugh rang around the room as he easily held d'Artagnan away by the shoulder, his reach far surpassing the Gascon's.

“Should we break this up?” asked Athos, amused.

“If he doesn't kick him, I have no issue. I see nothing wrong in letting such beautiful men wrestle,” Aramis answered, smirking.

“Indeed. I believe it was something of a national past time in ancient times,” Athos remarked.

“So sad that we let these traditions die,” Aramis said wistfully.

A sudden laughing shout of pain came from Porthos and Aramis started forwards in concern but the laughing continued.

“He bit me!” Porthos complained, cradling the forearm of the hand that had been braced against d'Artagnan.

“You taught me I should,” d'Artagnan said dismissively, again reaching for Porthos' cuffs.

“When fighting for your life!” Porthos retorted, trying to grab hold of d'Artagnan's wrists.

“I'm fighting for my pride,” d'Artagnan countered, trying to keep his arms out of Porthos' hands.

“That's not your life,” laughed Porthos.

“You've never been to Gascony, have you?” d'Artagnan said, grinning triumphantly as he managed to get both of his hands around one of Porthos' wrists.

“Well if you're gonna fight dirty,” growled Porthos playfully.

He quickly wrapped his free hand around one of d'Artagnan's wrists and, using a move he learned as a small child, twisted it around until d'Artagnan positively yelped in pain. The hands fell from Porthos' wrist and in one smooth motion he'd gathered both of d'Artagnan's slim wrists in one hand.

It was only a few seconds before d'Artagnan immediately stopped struggling, the sheer power of Porthos' one-handed grip was absolutely astonishing. He was fairly certain he could feel the bones grinding together.

“I win,” Porthos said loudly.

D'Artagnan laughed, slightly out of breath and held his wrists up obligingly.

“Now what are you going to do with him?” Aramis asked, also laughing.

“Now seems like a pretty good time to see if he begs,” Porthos answered, leering slightly at the Gascon.

D'Artagnan's breath all seemed to escape him at those words and he turned his head almost against his will to stare heatedly at Athos.

The Musketeer peered back at d'Artagnan without speaking for several long seconds. He couldn't quite tell what he wanted by seeking his gaze. It wasn't a plea for help, that was certain. What was it then? A simple request for him to answer instead of d'Artagnan? Athos wasn't sure he was ready to share details of their private life so he just shook his head slowly.

“Not tonight, I'm afraid,” Athos said finally.

Porthos immediately released d'Artagnan's wrists with an exaggerated pout.

“He's no fun any more,” he grumbled.

Aramis just laughed.

“He's just being selfish and possessive,” Aramis corrected. “I can relate.”

Porthos grinned back at Aramis before clapping d'Artagnan on the back.

“You alright there?” he prompted.

“I feel bloody sorry for Aramis with a grip like that!” he said, laughing.

“Oh he knows **just** how to use it, believe me,” Aramis purred, lifting his eyebrows suggestively.

“Are you trying to flirt with Porthos or with me?” asked d'Artagnan, grinning widely.

“I'm **always** trying to flirt with Porthos,” Aramis laughed. “Why? Do want to be flirted with?”

“Well, you know, everyone likes attention,” d'Artagnan chuckled.

“Is Athos neglecting you?” Porthos asked, grinning at their taciturn friend across the table.

“Not at all,” said d'Artagnan, laughing. “There's parts of me that wish he was!”

“Oh **really**?” Aramis said, turning his head sideways to give Athos a sly smile.

“I think that's enough,” Athos said, smiling softly.

“It appears d'Artagnan agrees,” Aramis teased.

Athos gave Aramis a very long look, lowering his chin slightly and his eyes narrowing a fraction. When Aramis just grinned and didn't say anything further, Athos stood, collecting the carafe of wine and his glass.

“Athos?” d'Artagnan asked, suddenly timid.

The Musketeer didn't reply but did smile, jerking his head at the door. D'Artagnan grinned widely and jumped to his feet, following Athos from the room.

“He alright?” Porthos asked, not needing to ask what Aramis spoke to him about.

“I really think he is. It's as if... He seems younger somehow. Freer, happier,” mused Aramis, smiling.

He watched Porthos stand and walk around the table towards him. He was definitely moving better but his limp was getting worse. Perhaps that was just tiredness, though. He had done an awful lot today. Aramis smiled as Porthos approached and he stood to greet him.

Casting his eyes to the doorway, he risked a gentle kiss to Porthos' lips before taking his hand.

“Come on,” he said quietly.

“I was wondering... Could we try something?” Porthos asked as Aramis led him to their room.

“What did you have in mind?” Aramis asked curiously.

Porthos looked up and down the corridor pointedly and nodded at the door. He resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at Aramis who purposefully lingered at the door before opening it and gesturing for Porthos to enter first.

“Undress,” Aramis said softly.

Porthos complied without hesitation, removing his clothes unhurriedly while Aramis moved around the room, lighting the wall sconces and moving their belongings to a pile by the door.

Aramis smiled over his shoulder at Porthos who was undoing the laces on his braies, the last item of clothing he was wearing. He walked over to him and knelt at his feet, helping him cast the garment aside when he finally removed it.

“Sire,” Porthos whispered, peering down at Aramis.

Even on his knees, Aramis just radiated power for Porthos. Part of it was that he was still dressed while Porthos stood bare but it was more than that. The soft smile on his face not withstanding, he simply felt Aramis' control and authority. Every fibre of Porthos' body knew, absolutely knew, he was made to follow this man.

Aramis didn't answer and just reached up to take Porthos' hand, fingers tracing the worn leather wrapped around the wrist above. His nimble fingers found the buckle and, with a little bit of tugging, managed to undo it.

Porthos' breath caught in his throat as the leather fell free. He'd become accustomed to feeling it on his wrist but could guess what Aramis was doing. He bit his lip as Aramis pressed his lips to the soft skin of his wrist, suckling slightly on the bruise left by Aramis' savage bite over a week ago.

“You'll have to keep that hidden tomorrow,” Aramis said quietly, glancing up at Porthos who nodded in reply.

Aramis smiled and stroked his hands up and down Porthos' left leg, carefully measuring the swelling. It was definitely still there but had gone down a lot. Aramis was content to replace the strap but did leave it on the loosest notch again.

“I'd gotten kind of used to it on my wrist,” Porthos said around an unexpected lump in his throat. He was slightly taken aback at the swell of emotion he felt, feeling the return of what they considered his collar to its rightful place.

Aramis smiled and pressed a feather light kiss to the still swollen and bruised joint. He stood up, wrapping his arms around Porthos' naked body and kissed Porthos slowly, gently moving his lips against him.

“Undress me,” he murmured.

Porthos smiled against Aramis' lips and took a step back to reach his belt buckle.

“Your hands are shaking,” Aramis said softly.

“Yes, Sire,” Porthos said quietly.

“Why?” he asked gently.

Porthos exhaled heavily and Aramis took the small half step to close the distance between them and rested their foreheads together. Porthos closed his eyes and forced himself to take a long, slow breath in.

“When I stepped back, I felt it back around my leg and it... Oh, Aramis,” he breathed. “Felt like home.”

The arms around him tightened, pulling him closer. He felt himself beginning to shake with the feeling of homecoming. He needed that after their trying day.

“It shouldn't... I'm sorry. It shouldn't make such a difference,” Porthos said, sniffling slightly.

Aramis smiled and gently guided Porthos' head to his shoulder, stroking his hair.

“It's OK, mi vida. I'm not returning it to try and bring you back into line, you know that. I wanted it back as soon as I thought your leg could take it. Today's that day. I would never use it like that,” Aramis soothed.

“Yes, Master,” Porthos murmured. He nuzzled into Aramis' neck for a few seconds before lifting his head.

Aramis studied Porthos' face carefully and smiled, seeing him calmer and more balanced.

“Carry on then,” Aramis said quietly.

Porthos nodded and returned his attention to Aramis' belt. Thankfully he wasn't wearing his baldric and all its associated accoutrements so Porthos just had the two to struggle with. His hands grew more and more steady with the familiar motions but the leather around his leg felt heavy.

Years of wearing it had meant he hardly felt it on a daily basis yet he'd felt its absence with an almost painful ache those first few days. Now it was back, the feel of it was definitely significant. It was as though he could feel Aramis' hand around him, keeping a tight, reassuring hold on him.

He drew the wide leather belt from around Aramis' waist and draped it over the back of a chair. His pistols followed, quickly joined by his thinner sword belt including both of his blades.

Aramis watched Porthos in silence, smiling softly. As he circled Aramis to unwind the blue sash, the only sound in the room was their breathing. Porthos was still limping slightly but was steady enough on his feet when he returned to Aramis' front and began undoing his coat.

Slowly, one by one, Porthos undid the toggles on Aramis' long coat and, again circling to stand behind him, eased it off his shoulders. He draped it over the chair his clothes were also occupying and returned to Aramis' back. The slender man leaned back against him and hummed contentedly, feeling their bodies slot together as they always did.

Porthos' arms wrapped around Aramis loosely and he kissed him gently behind the ear. He smiled at the small happy sigh this elicited and together they stood in silence for several long seconds until Aramis straightened up slightly, his silent signal for Porthos to continue.

Keeping himself pressed against Aramis' back, Porthos drew his braces down and tugged his shirt free. Aramis obligingly leaned forwards just long enough for Porthos tug it up and over his head before leaning back against him.

His hands made quick work of the buttons on his breeches and the laces on his braies. He never needed to see them any more being so familiar with the way Aramis tied the knot.

“I don't think I can kneel,” Porthos whispered softly, breaking their silence.

Normally at this stage, Aramis would sit down for Porthos to remove his boots, hose, breeches and braies all in one motion while Porthos knelt. The injury, however, meant that wasn't going to be done today.

“Mmm. No. I don't think so, either. I'll do them today, then,” Aramis said. He chuckled softly, feeling the deflation in Porthos' body. “I won't risk you taking longer to heal,” he reminded him.

“I know, Sire. I just miss it,” Porthos said quietly, nuzzling Aramis' neck.

Aramis turned in Porthos' arms and kissed him softly, one hand reaching up to stroke his cheek as he did so.

“You wanted to try something?”

Porthos' eyes lit up and he licked his lips nervously.

“I... Yes... I... What I really want is to be fucked if I'm honest but I'm still too sore for that in any position I think of,” he said, chuckling.

Aramis laughed as well and stepped out of Porthos' embrace to sit on the end of the bed and leaned down to remove the rest of his clothes.

“Mhmm. I get the impression you've thought of an alternative you'd like to try,” Aramis prompted.

Porthos bit his bottom lip in a nervous gesture Aramis never failed to find utterly adorable.

“Well... I know you're still on this 'not until Paris' plan for me but... I can feel you holding back when you're... using me,” Porthos said quietly.

Aramis felt a lurch of arousal at his choice of words. It was true. That's exactly what he'd been doing recently and from the way Porthos' cock was beginning to thicken without a touch to it, he was similarly effected. Porthos being simply a vessel for Aramis' own pleasure was one of their favourite things.

“I am,” Aramis said quietly, curious where Porthos was going with this.

“I... I was hoping you might like to... you could use my mouth, Sire. You wouldn't have to hold back and I'd... I'd like to feel taken,” Porthos admitted, his voice dropping as desire flooded his system.

Aramis' own cock twitched at Porthos' words. He wasn't sure the man had any idea how utterly gorgeous he was and when he painted pictures like that, how devastating he could be.

“And if **I** want to be fucked?” Aramis asked.

“Then you will be,” Porthos answered instantly.

Aramis surveyed Porthos for a few moments.

“Are you making this suggestion for me or for you?” he asked.

“For you,” Porthos answered.

Aramis sighed inwardly but Porthos spoke again before Aramis had a chance.

“For me, Sire,” he amended. “It's something I always enjoy. It's something I miss. I'm craving the feeling of being taken and possessed and I'd very much like us to do this,” he added honestly.

Aramis smiled warmly at him.

“Thank you, Porthos. That's the truth,” he said kindly.

He continued to survey Porthos, thinking hard. For several weeks they'd both simply done whatever the other fancied but it had led them to here. Porthos' admission from before he was injured that he became angry when Aramis didn't choose to do what Porthos wanted was still fresh in his mind. He wanted to be mindful not to let that happen again.

The mental images flashing through his head were nearly enough for him to throw sense out the window and just do exactly as Porthos had suggested but he hadn't been lying when he told d'Artagnan he was looking out for Porthos. Hadn't Porthos himself said he just gets in his own way? It was Aramis' responsibility then to make sure he kept going the right way.

A sudden thought occurred to him. That's what had changed. It was a suggestion, not a request. If Porthos wanted something for himself, it should be phrased as a request. He was absolutely entitled to make as many requests as he liked but phrasing it as a suggestion seemed... under-handed.

Aramis watched Porthos' left leg beginning to tremble and knew he had to make his mind up soon. He decided he would wait until Porthos was back in the right mindset to be **asking** for things, not trying to get Aramis to decide them. He had absolutely no doubt Porthos wasn't doing it intentionally. There would not be a single part of that man's conscious brain that was trying to manipulate him but there was a flaw in his thought pattern that if he **knows** it's for him and his pleasure, it was anything other than a request.

“I will keep your suggestion in mind,” he said softly. “Come and lay down.”

Aramis watched carefully for any sign of rebellion or upset but saw none. That was a good sign. He couldn't resist reaching out and brushing his fingers over the leather strap as Porthos passed him and received a warm smile in reply.

As Porthos got comfortable on his back, Aramis gestured for him to lift his arms. He then located the sash and bound Porthos' wrists loosely before attaching them to the headboard.

“Sire,” Porthos said quietly. His entire body had tensed when he realised Aramis was going to bind him.

“I know. I know, mi vida. You're mine, though. I like to bind you so I will. It's very loose so you should be fine. You're so much stronger than you give yourself credit for,” Aramis soothed gently. As he spoke he lay down beside Porthos, pressing himself against his lover's body.

Porthos nodded, drawing strength from Aramis' conviction. He was still feeling flutters of panic in his stomach at the restraint and his knees were throbbing, as if reminding him what happened last time his wrists were tied. This was different. This was Aramis. Even the feel of the material around his wrists was different.

That pure, Musketeer blue, fabric. Still so soft after so many years, so well looked after. Like he was. Both were so well looked after, Aramis always quick to repair, quick to keep them soft, quick to find any fraying. He loved that scarf and he loved Porthos. He was responsible and protective over them both. The thought made him chuckle.

“What's so funny?” Aramis asked. He was stroking Porthos' chest, tracing the red lines still visible from the previous night.

“I'm your sash,” Porthos answered.

“You're... you're my sash?” Aramis asked in surprise.

“We're both your property and you look after us so well. Keep us in good condition,” Porthos explained.

Aramis chuckled softly and kissed him.

“I try my best,” he said softly.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Always,” Aramis answered, stroking his fingers over the red lines again.

“That... The way you phrased that, Sire... Do you feel guilty about me getting hurt?” Porthos asked.

“Getting hurt? No,” Aramis answered firmly. “That I took so long to notice how upset you'd been by it? Yes.”

“You don't need to,” Porthos said. He leaned his head forwards for a kiss and Aramis obliged.

“Perhaps not but if it makes me work harder about looking after my big beautiful brown sash then I see no harm in it,” Aramis insisted. “There's another way you're like it, you know.”

“Mmm?” Porthos murmured. Aramis had started trailing his hand slightly lower and was tracing the still painful lines on the soft skin of his stomach.

Aramis propped himself up slightly and leaned down, hovering his lips barely an inch above Porthos'.

“You both look excellent wrapped around my hips.”

Porthos' low chuckle was cut off by a long, slow kiss. It felt entirely different with his wrists bound. He could feel the helplessness turning away from its normal protective sensation to something uncomfortable.

“Shh, shh,” Aramis soothed. “It's OK. It's me that has you. You're mine Porthos. You're safe with me. The bindings make you safe with me.”

Porthos took several deep breaths and gradually the feeling faded. He gave Aramis a weak smile and once he'd calmed down, nodded his assent.

The marksman smiled and resumed tracing the lines his nails had left. Gradually Porthos relaxed into it and his entire body seemed to sag back against the bed.

“Everything they took from you, Porthos. Everything they ruined, everything they tainted... I will take it back from them. I will erase everything they've done to hurt you,” Aramis said quietly.

“Like a dog marking its territory?” Porthos asked, chuckling softly.

“More like a cat declaring a person theirs by rubbing themselves all over it,” Aramis corrected.

“Mmm. Cat suits you better,” Porthos agreed, arching into Aramis' hand as the fingertips gave way to nails.

“I'm pleased they never took this from you,” Aramis murmured. “The way you seek out and silently beg for me to hurt you.”

Porthos laughed unselfconsciously.

“I don't beg,” he said.

“True but you flex and lean towards me like every single part of you wants it,” Aramis said, purring slightly and letting his nails dig further in.

Porthos hissed in pain but the noise quickly gave way to a low, deep rumble of pure want.

“See,” Aramis said smugly, tracing the new red lines gently.

“I never denied that, Sire. I never hide what I want,” he said quietly.

“No. No you don't,” Aramis said softly.

Porthos lifted his head slightly at the tone of Aramis' voice.

“Sire?”

“Just something I'm working on, mi vida,” Aramis said, smiling.

“Something I've done wrong?” Porthos asked in concern.

“No. No, not at all,” Aramis said stroking Porthos' chest in wide, soothing motions.

Porthos gave Aramis a long look. A look that clearly said 'I know you aren't being totally honest' but then lay his head back down between his outstretched arms.

Aramis resumed trailing his nails across Porthos' body, focussing mostly on the more tender skin of his stomach. He was done with the light, playful tracing and was making Porthos arch and hiss with each pass. When a particularly savage swipe crossed over another set of raised lines, Porthos twisted on the bed and then gasped in surprise.

Aramis looked up in concern and found Porthos staring at the ceiling with wide eyes, panting slightly.

“Porthos?” he asked.

“I... I'd forgotten how good it is when I can't get away. How... freeing it is. What a treat it is,” Porthos panted.

Aramis stretched up and kissed Porthos warmly. The reason it was a treat was that Aramis' favourite thing about Porthos in pain was his acceptance and obedience. He only tended to bind Porthos if he was going to push him to a place where the obedience would be tested. What Porthos meant by freeing was that he didn't need to worry about obeying because Aramis had taken that choice from him.

“I'd forgotten how fucking good you look tied up,” Aramis murmured against Porthos' lips, earning a groan from the bigger man beneath him. “OK for me to tighten them?”

“Yes please, Sire,” Porthos panted.

Aramis gave him another kiss before stretching up even further to tighten the sash around his wrists. Porthos, however, didn't miss the way he winced when his arms were high above his head like that and gave the man a very disapproving look.

“I know,” Aramis said before descending on Porthos' mouth in a harsh, painful kiss.

Aramis could kiss with the best of them and could kiss as light as a feather or make it a sensual massage. This was something entirely different. This was bruising, possessive and full of teeth. His tongue was aggressive in Porthos' mouth before suddenly leaving and being replaced by bites all along his bottom lip. By the time Aramis pulled away, Porthos could taste blood on his lip.

“Sire,” he growled, tugging on the sash, testing its give. He was pleasantly surprised to feel it so tight, expecting Aramis to have left some give in it again.

“Trying to get away?” Aramis asked, his black eyes glittering with lust in the candlelight.

“Never,” Porthos said fervently. His breath caught in his throat when Aramis' nails began to trail threateningly up and down his mostly soft member.

“What do you want, Porthos?” Aramis asked.

Porthos arched his hips against Aramis' digits but the hand was quickly removed.

“Do you want to spend for me?” he asked, his hand moving lower to cup Porthos' balls, gently rolling them.

“Nngh. Sire. Only... Only ever if you want,” Porthos answered.

“Why is that?” Aramis asked, still gently fondling him.

“I belong to you, Sire,” Porthos answered.

“So true,” Aramis murmured. “What **do** you want?”

Porthos' face was screwed up in concentration as he tried to find the right answer. Aramis wasn't helping since he'd encouraged Porthos' legs slightly further apart and was now tracing feather light lines up and down his inner thigh.

“Sire,” he panted. “Please.”

“Please what, Porthos?” Aramis asked for the third time.

“Please hurt me, Sire,” Porthos whimpered.

“What if I don't want to?” Aramis asked.

“You never don't want to hurt me,” Porthos laughed.

“Ah. True. Bad example,” he agreed, laughing softly.

“Example, Sire?” Porthos asked, struggling through his fog of ever increasing arousal.

“What do you want, Porthos?” Aramis asked yet again.

“I want... I want... I want to make you happy,” Porthos said.

“How?” Aramis pressed.

“I want... Oh...” Porthos breathed.

Aramis let the silence fill the room for well over a minute before asking his question again.

“What do you want, Porthos?”

“I want to be of use to you and obey you in everything,” Porthos answered in a hushed voice.

“My good boy,” Aramis murmured.

“That's what you meant? You... I ask for what I want too much?”

“Mmm. Not quite, Porthos. I encourage you asking for what you want, you know that. **Asking** ,” Aramis amended. "What has been happening recently, however, is that you have been phrasing them as mutual decisions.”

Porthos chewed over this in silence for a few seconds.

“Like you said to the lad... I can sway your decisions, though,” he said in confusion.

“By telling me which option you would prefer or **making a request** ,” Aramis explained. “I think it's been becoming a mutual conversation too much recently.”

Porthos frowned again and then nodded slowly.

“So... I should be **asking** for what I want rather than what I'm doing now where I just tell you what I think we should be doing?” he asked.

“Precisely,” Aramis said, beaming.

“Then Sire... will you please take my mouth?” Porthos asked, his own eyes darkening.

“No,” Aramis said, smirking. “It has been too long since I was able to use you to fuck myself with you stretched out and tied up like this.”

Porthos groaned and it quickly became a low growl when Aramis began to slowly stroke his cock. He could feel himself hardening, unable to resist the skilled hand of his lover who knew him so well.

“Sire... Since we're leaving for Paris in a couple of days...” Porthos said, leaving the suggestion hanging.

“No,” Aramis smirked. “I am sticking to this plan. So now you know it's at least three weeks, including the journey, before you will have your release.”

“Sire,” Porthos groaned. “You drive me mad.”

“I fucking love you when you're this desperate, this responsive, this wanting,” Aramis said, shifting his body until he was laying sideways, whispering into Porthos' ear while his hand was now moving in long, smooth strokes up and down his fully erect length. “The truth is, you love it too.”

Porthos had no answer but another pained groan. Aramis had an absolutely filthy mouth and even as he spoke, Porthos was further aroused by the simple fact that his assertion was absolutely true.

Aramis moved away from Porthos just long enough to fetch the oil and then returned, straddling Porthos' hips. He rested one hand on Porthos' hip to give himself balance and the other he used to slick up one finger and slowly pushed it inside himself.

The moan he gave was a thing of pure filth and it had fulfilled its purpose. Porthos' hips lurched and he groaned loudly. The motion just rubbed his length against Aramis' perineum and he grew even more frustrated.

“Sire. May I please touch you,” Porthos growled.

“No,” Aramis said, sighing and inserting a second finger already. Having had sex with Porthos this way so many times in recent days meant his body was eager to accept him.

Porthos growled in frustration even as his cock throbbed, a deep ache of denial lighting a fire inside him. He hated himself a little bit for being further turned on by the denial itself. It was a vicious, delicious circle and Aramis played it perfectly.

Aramis moaned wantonly, a third finger joining the others and he couldn't resist touching his own hard throbbing cock with his other hand.

He didn't have the muscle strength to do that just yet, though and he nearly fell forwards, leaving just enough room for Porthos' cock to spring free from where Aramis' body weight had pinned it against his stomach.

Sitting back upright, Aramis smirked to feel the length pressing up between his buttocks.

“So eager to be used,” he purred.

Porthos growled again and tugged the scarf around his wrists. He wasn't really trying to get free, just luxuriating in the knowledge he couldn't. While simply not being allowed to touch Aramis was delicious, being rendered unable was just wonderful.

“Yes Sire,” he groaned, flexing his hips uselessly beneath Aramis.

The slender man replaced his hand on Porthos' hip, steadying himself again. He quickly reinserted his three fingers, moaning as he did so. He tossed his head back, luxuriating in the feeling, knowing it would only get better when it was Porthos. Even after three fingers Porthos could be a challenge to take and Aramis loved every second of it.

“That's what I'm going to do, Porthos. You might not think it because you want my cock in you,” Aramis said, trying to keep his voice light but arousal was making it slightly breathy as his fingers continued to move in and out of himself. “But I am going to take you. This is about me. Not you. I am taking from you what I want.”

“Yes Master,” Porthos whimpered.

Aramis groaned at the noise. It was a rarity to hear Porthos whimper like that and it only ever meant he was utterly lost to the situation. He removed his hand from himself and quickly located the base of Porthos' thick member. Holding it steady he raised himself up on his knees and gradually settled back down, moaning again as he felt the wide head breach his body.

Porthos growled and tugged hard on the sash, desperate to wrap his arms around Aramis or at hold his hips steady. Aramis sank down another inch and he groaned again, feeling the heat around him. Aramis was gloriously tight and it took all of Porthos' willpower not to thrust up into him.

Aramis lifted himself up slightly, leaving just the tip of Porthos' cock inside him and found the oil with one hand. He quickly added a little more to Porthos' shaft and sank down in one hard, fast motion.

Both men's moans filled the room. Porthos' of shock and arousal, Aramis' being of mild pain and overwhelming pleasure.

Aramis spread his knees slightly, pushing him even further onto Porthos' cock and he moaned again. He settled both of his hands on Porthos' stomach and began to rock himself back and forth.

Porthos growled and shifted restlessly on the bed beneath Aramis. He was growing light headed with the strength of his arousal. The restraint, the way Aramis was shamelessly using him, the knowledge he wasn't going to be permitted to spend... They were all making him breathless and the motion of Aramis' hips on his lap was just sinful.

“Fuck,” Aramis whispered. “You feel so fucking good.”

“Master,” panted Porthos, unable to come up with any other response.

“Mine to use,” Aramis purred before raising himself up slightly and then back down.

“Master,” repeated Porthos helplessly.

“Mine,” said Aramis again. He began to set up a nice rhythm on Porthos, slowly rising off him and sinking down on him much faster. Each time he did it, Porthos growled deep in his chest.

After a few minutes of this regular pace, he paused on the upstroke, holding himself there. Porthos arched his hips impatiently and Aramis dug his nails into his stomach again.

“Mine,” he said, his nails still embedded in the sensitive skin. “To,” he increased the pressure, still further, making Porthos twist on the bed in pain. “Use,” he hissed, dragging them sharply down, leaving six bright red trail of broken skin.

Porthos bellowed in pain and arched off the bed. Aramis sank down on Porthos' cock at the same time, revelling in the sensations his pained writhing caused.

“Silly boy,” he murmured when Porthos had stopped moving and was simply panting in shock. “I don't want **you** to fuck **me**. I want to fuck myself **on** you. I'm just using you, Porthos. Taking you, remember?”

Porthos groaned and nodded fervently, tears springing to his eyes. Most of it was from the pain still blazing across his stomach but some was that even when he was doing exactly what he wanted, what he intended to do all along, Aramis was still able to meet Porthos' needs without capitulating to him. In that moment, blood welling in the lines on his stomach, a deep ache in his genitals, knees protesting at the writhing, hands tied, rendering him helpless... he wasn't sure he'd ever loved Aramis more.

 


	75. Chapter 75

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos and d'Artagnan have their own night together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filth abounds!

Athos and d'Artagnan were reclining comfortably against the headboard of their bed. They'd both stripped down to just their smalls and d'Artagnan was leaning against Athos, his head on the older man's shoulder.

“I'm proud of you,” Athos murmured.

“Why?”

“You wanted to see it through,” Athos explained. “You see the people behind the task. Tréville is correct. We fulfilled our mission before we left Dijon.”

“But Porthos was right, too. We couldn't just learn of all this harm and all the problems then just leave,” d'Artagnan answered, frowning slightly.

“Why not?” asked Athos, his fingers trailing through the black hair.

“It wouldn't have been honourable.”

“We followed our orders. Completed our mission. Avenged our brother, even. We aided local law keepers. Would it not have been honourable to then return to Paris where our regiment belongs?”

“Yes,” d'Artagnan said slowly. He raised his head to look at Athos who was just watching him with a smile. “It would have been honourable but not... right?”

“Is being honourable not the point? To be honourable and do one's duty is the right thing, is it not?” Athos asked.

“You don't believe that,” d'Artagnan said, grinning.

“You do,” Athos reminded him.

“Do I?”

“Don't you?”

D'Artagnan laughed and kissed Athos. He could feel the Musketeer's lips curl into a smile beneath his.

“Are you trying to slow walk me to an epiphany?” he teased.

“Not necessarily an epiphany,” Athos answered. “Perhaps inviting you to take the opportunity to look at how far you've come from that idealistic Gascony farm boy who walked into our garrison.”

“In a good way?”

“That's for each man to decide about any change in himself,” Athos said. A flicker of pain flashed through his eyes but before d'Artagnan could say anything, he continued speaking.

“Every choice you make, d'Artagnan, will change you. You know there are orders we don't like but do anyway. That's one choice we've already made. Some of us were born into a life of duty but you have that choice, still. If you **choose** to join the Musketeers, you have to accept that may change you in ways you can't predict. Your duty...” he trailed off.

“She was a killer, Athos,” d'Artagnan said quietly.

Athos' entire body stiffened and he turned his head to glare at d'Artagnan.

“What you did was both honourable **and** right,” d'Artagnan whispered.

“I killed the woman I loved, d'Artagnan. I had her killed,” Athos said, softly.

He reached for the carafe of wine but d'Artagnan's hand on his wrist stopped him. He watched as d'Artagnan pulled his wrist to his mouth and kissed his palm.

“She isn't dead,” d'Artagnan reminded him. “You didn't kill her.”

“As good as,” Athos whispered.

Something deep and painful was trying to claw its way out of his chest. This was why he needed the wine. It soothed that black mass of pain and crushed it. He kept looking at it but d'Artagnan's grip on his hand tightened.

“Come back to me,” d'Artagnan murmured.

With great difficulty Athos turned his head to stare helplessly at the Gascon, wincing at the compassion and understanding in the brown eyes.

“You aren't trapped by choices and decisions you've made,” d'Artagnan said softly. “I decided to kill you and here I am.”

Athos chuckled weakly and shook his head.

“It's not the same,” he said bitterly.

“Aramis made his choice to join the Musketeers and obey all of his orders. He was ordered to deliver that baby to the Cardinal. You made the choice to join the Musketeers and obey all orders. You were ordered to let Bonnaire go,” d'Artagnan said softly. “You can still stand up and do what's right. You can change your mind.”

“Are you telling me I should have cast my duty aside five years ago?” Athos asked.

“No. I'm telling you that a choice made five years ago doesn't have to dictate the rest of your life. You can let it go. Let her go,” d'Artagnan murmured.

Athos sighed and leaned forwards, pressing their foreheads together. He felt d'Artagnan's arms go around him and Athos allowed himself to slouch down in bed to nuzzle against the Gascon's chest.

“I'm sorry, puppy,” he whispered.

“I don't know a single person who owns a puppy who isn't comforted by them,” d'Artagnan teased.

Athos gave a weak chuckle and just let himself be held.

  
  


  
  


 

Athos woke slowly to a soft snoring noise. D'Artagnan was sprawled on his back and Athos had been sleeping with his head on the tanned chest.

Carefully, he sat up and looked down at d'Artagnan. He didn't remember falling asleep but he did remember d'Artagnan laying them down. He smiled slightly at the memory of feeling safe enough to draw comfort from the man.

He stretched and could already feel his anguish washing away. D'Artagnan really was something special. Of course he'd had different plans when he'd brought him to bed. Athos had intended something much less gentle. He stroked the line of d'Artagnan's hip with his fingertips.

Athos' lips curled into a mischievous smirk when d'Artagnan shifted in his sleep at the contact. He experimentally traced the waistband of his braies until his fingers were resting on the skin beneath his navel, toying with the laces.

“Athos,” d'Artagnan breathed.

“You're awake,” Athos said, smirking.

“Not really,” d'Artagnan murmured. “Just... you were gone...”

“I'm here,” Athos said, softly.

“mmkay,” d'Artagnan sighed.

Athos let his fingers trail lower, following the line of the laces until he found d'Artagnan's soft member in the linen.

“Athos,” d'Artagnan whispered, shifting slightly.

“Shhh. Relax, puppy,” Athos murmured, continuing to trace feather light lines across the fabric, barely pressing against the organ below.

“S'nice,” mumbled d'Artagnan sleepily.

Athos didn't answer and just began to press a little harder, massaging gently. With his other hand he began to unlace the laces and d'Artagnan huffed out a laugh.

“I don't... I have no self control with you,” he said.

Athos smiled in reply but d'Artagnan hadn't opened his eyes yet.

“I told you I like it when you're like this,” he murmured.

“Horny?” d'Artagnan asked.

“Needy. I told you I didn't want you to stop trying to bed me, didn't I?”

D'Artagnan propped himself up onto his elbows and peered at Athos.

“And if I try and jump you right now... Will I get anywhere?” he asked, teasing.

“Perhaps not,” Athos conceded. He'd succeeded in undoing d'Artagnan's small-clothes and was now gently massaging his semi-hardness.

“You're always so hot,” d'Artagnan moaned, dropping back.

“Why thank you,” Athos said, blinking in surprise.

“No, no. I mean temperature. You just seem hotter,” d'Artagnan babbled, trying to resist the urge to arch into Athos' hand. He was now fully hard but Athos was still just massaging his fingers against him rather than stroking him.

“Oh,” Athos said, amused. “I've been told that before.”

D'Artagnan sat up suddenly and pulled Athos into a deep kiss. The Musketeer gave a muffled noise of surprise but quickly sank into d'Artagnan's arms.

After long seconds, Athos twisted their bodies and lay d'Artagnan back down, unfolding his legs to stretch out beside him.

D'Artagnan laughed against Athos' mouth.

“You keep accusing me of trying to get you into bed and yet you're quite insatiable yourself,” he said.

Athos shrugged and returned his hand to d'Artagnan's groin, simply rubbing his fingertips against the thick vein.

“Keep showing that level of cheek and you'll never find out what I had planned for you tonight,” he said quietly.

“That sounds either ominous or wonderful,” d'Artagnan said, leaning up towards Athos again.

The Musketeer obliged and kissed him. He kept it slow, relaxed. It seemed to him that this kind of relaxed, spontaneous kissing was somehow far more intimate than any other of their bedroom antics. He ended the kiss with a sweet, lingering press of his lips and he raised his head.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“For saying you sound ominous?” d'Artagnan teased.

“For teaching me how to love someone again,” Athos answered.

“I haven't taught you,” d'Artagnan said. “It was always there, Athos. You just needed to give yourself permission.”

“Maybe I just needed the right person,” Athos mused, gazing down at d'Artagnan.

“Maybe,” the Gascon replied, puffing his chest out dramatically.

“How will I ever manage to take the wind out of your sails now?” Athos groaned.

“What plans did you have for me?” d'Artagnan asked, ignoring him.

“Perhaps you can figure it out along the way,” Athos suggested.

D'Artagnan nodded eagerly and licked his lips. Athos rolled his eyes before gently placing d'Artagnan's hand on his own still clothed groin.

Eagerly, d'Artagnan gently made out the shape of Athos' member, feeling it already thickening. He slowly began to work his way up, to the laces, hesitating. At Athos' nod he quickly undid them and, when he wrapped his long fingers around Athos, he couldn't help feeling a ripple of pride at the way Athos' eyes closed.

“Mmm, puppy,” Athos murmured. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes Sir,” d'Artagnan answered instantly, stroking Athos slowly, bringing him to hardness.

“Would you like to try something new?” Athos asked, his eyes still closed.

“Yes please Sir,” d'Artagnan answered. He wasn't sure why but every time he saw that look of pleasure on Athos' face, his own arousal would soar.

Athos looked down at him, finally opening his eyes. The pale eyes seemed almost entirely black, lust having blown his pupils wide.

D'Artagnan whined when Athos stood up but it quickly morphed into a low moan of want when Athos stripped his underwear off. He quickly shuffled his own off and Athos gestured for him to sit up.

“What's something you've been wanting to try?” Athos asked, as he moved to sit on the bed, relaxing against the headboard.

D'Artagnan stared pointedly at Athos, a small lift to his eyebrows in an excellent imitation of Athos' normal scathing look.

“Apart from that. I am sticking to my 'in my own bed' policy,” Athos said drily.

D'Artagnan laughed and leaned forwards to kiss Athos again, a light peck on the lips. It was becoming his favourite way of removing the slightly mocking wry smile his lover so often wore.

“Well you knocked back my suggestion last night,” d'Artagnan said.

“Perhaps you should try again,” Athos said in a low voice.

D'Artagnan seemed to have forgotten every word he'd ever learned. He had absolutely no idea how to respond with his mind full of images of finally being able to taste Athos that way.

Athos reached out with one finger and lifted d'Artagnan's jaw, which had fallen open. This act seemed to wake him from his reverie and he blinked several times.

“Really?” he asked, his voice thick.

“Really,” Athos confirmed.

“I don't... I don't know what to do,” d'Artagnan admitted. He looked up, embarrassed, but Athos was just smiling gently at him.

“You'll be most comfortable if you lay down on your stomach,” he said quietly.

“Most comfortable for you,” d'Artagnan muttered, surreptitiously tucking his erect member against his stomach as he stretched out between Athos' legs.

“Oh believe me I have plans for that,” the Musketeer said, his whisper full of promise.

D'Artagnan moaned in arousal and settled into place, his mouth watering as he came face to face with Athos' hard member. It was already beginning to ooze a little moisture and d'Artagnan couldn't resist reaching out and licking away the small dribble.

It was different than he'd expected. Musky and salty and something deliciously savoury he couldn't identify.

“You do know what to do, after all,” Athos said, amused. “Take it slow though, please.”

D'Artagnan looked up through his lashes and was surprised to see a flicker of nerves in Athos' face. It occurred to him that this, too, was an incredibly vulnerable position to put himself in. The Gascon pulled himself up onto his knees and took a few awkward steps forward to kiss Athos.

He cradled the Musketeer's face in his hands and pressed his lips gently against Athos'.

“You OK?” he murmured.

“I am, puppy. I just don't like feeling exposed in places I don't know. I trust you, though,” Athos answered, sincerely. He raised his hand to d'Artagnan's wrists and, gently tugging them away, pressed a kiss to each of his palms in turn.

D'Artagnan felt a lump in his throat at the unexpected remark. Somehow, coming from Athos, hearing that he trusted d'Artagnan was almost more meaningful than hearing him express love.

“It's not very honourable to leave a man waiting,” Athos said, raising his eyebrow again.

D'Artagnan chuckled, taking the hint, and shuffled back down the bed, settling again at Athos' groin. He inhaled deeply and the scent was delicious. It was sweat, leather and something else that was pure Athos. It was the same scent that was in Athos' hair when they embraced or his neck when d'Artagnan cuddled against him.

He reached forwards and licked again at the tip of Athos' cock, hearing the man sigh above him. He decided to be bold and licked a long stripe along the underside of Athos' cock. A startled laugh from above him made him blush.

“Gently, puppy. Gently. You can use your hands as well,” Athos said, smiling down at the slightly chagrinned d'Artagnan.

“Sorry,” he whispered, smiling weakly.

“All puppies tend to be over eager at first,” he said quietly, reaching out to stroke the black hair.

D'Artagnan grinned and shifted his weight to take Athos in his hand, stroking gently. This caused a pleased murmur so d'Artagnan continued.

Gradually the skin on the head of Athos' cock was pulled down and d'Artagnan reached out and licked gently at it. Athos' hips lurched in surprise but the low groan was one of pure pleasure.

D'Artagnan reached forwards and took just the red swollen head into his mouth, suckling slightly. This made Athos twist slightly so he stopped suckling and just held him in his mouth, his hand still stroking up and down his shaft. After a few minutes, d'Artagnan began to run his tongue over the smooth flesh and listened to Athos groan again.

Feeling bolder, he moved his mouth slightly further down on Athos' shaft. He marvelled at the heat of it. He hadn't been joking when he said Athos just always felt hotter but d'Artagnan had assumed the heat of his mouth would cancel it out. Not so. He felt hot, thick and heavy against d'Artagnan's tongue.

Athos' breath was coming in short gasps. He was fighting down the urge to simply thrust up into d'Artagnan's mouth. The only people to have ever, **ever** done this for him were Porthos and Aramis and both of them were particularly skilled at this. He was determined to let d'Artagnan go at his own speed.

His control was further tested, though, when d'Artagnan's beautifully wet, hot mouth began to slide up and down him, sinking almost halfway down before coming back up. Athos almost regretted telling him to take it slowly.

D'Artagnan gradually settled into a slow, manageable rhythm. Every few strokes he tried to take a little more of Athos in and kept his hand covering the part of him he couldn't quite take yet. After a few minutes he felt Athos bumping at the back of his throat and he gagged slightly.

Athos heard the noise and looked down to see d'Artagnan coughing. He tilted his head and smiled down at him.

“Such an eager puppy,” he murmured.

“How did you **do** that?” he asked, scandalised.

“Practice,” Athos answered, honestly. There was a flicker of something in the brown eyes. Insecurity? Jealousy? “You'll just have to practice as well,” he added.

His comment had the desired effect and d'Artagnan moaned at the visual of doing this more and more often.

“Just relax,” he murmured and d'Artagnan nodded.

He settled his mouth on Athos' length again and moaned around him. He'd never get enough of this taste. He tried to remember some of the things Athos did to him that made him feel quite so overwhelmed.

Athos gasped in pleasure when d'Artagnan moved to press his tongue along the underside of Athos' cock. His hands came up to d'Artagnan's hair and he gripped tightly, trying to stop himself thrusting upwards of his own accord.

He settled back down and started petting and stroking d'Artagnan's hair. He groaned softly as this seemed to spur the Gascon on and he turned things up slightly. His grip became slightly firmer, his hand and mouth slightly quicker. Without being told he'd wrapped his lips around his teeth and he held them slightly firmed around Athos' member.

D'Artagnan's jaw was starting to hurt and he knew he was going to need more practice at this. He heard the small moan from above him and it seemed Athos didn't need him to be slow any more. He added a gentle sucking motion and the hands in his hair tightened again.

“Come here,” Athos rasped.

D'Artagnan stopped abruptly and looked up, dismayed.

“I'm sorry. I'll try harder,” he whispered.

“Kiss me,” Athos demanded with a sharp tug to his hair.

D'Artagnan felt tears pricking his eyes at his failure but he did as he was told, kneeling up between Athos' legs.

“You are amazing,” Athos said earnestly before tugging him close and kissing him deeply. He could faintly taste himself on d'Artagnan's tongue and it made him groan with desire. “You taste like me,” he growled.

He surged forwards and spread d'Artagnan out on his back, kissing him the entire way down.

“You're fucking delicious,” Athos murmured, moving to kiss and nip at the long column of d'Artagnan's throat.

“I'm sorry,” d'Artagnan gasped.

Athos pulled back and frowned down at d'Artagnan.

“Not everything has to end with a climax, d'Artagnan. I'd be content to simply kiss you until I fell asleep. I did last night,” he said, smiling.

“But that was... When you...”

“I am not as reckless with my orgasms as you, my dear insatiable puppy. I am somewhat more reserved and I like many things on the way,” Athos said softly.

D'Artagnan nodded but Athos could see the dismay in his face still.

“If I were to have you service me in that fashion in preparation to take you over the table there, would you consider it a failure?” Athos asked.

D'Artagnan gaped at him in surprise again.

“Athos,” he protested.

“D'Artagnan,” Athos mimicked.

“I... No,” he muttered.

“Then why must you consider it a failure when I ask you to take me into your mouth before I lay you down and take you with my fingers?” Athos asked lightly.

“Oh... Athos...” he moaned.

“Indeed,” the Musketeer murmured.

Almost out of reflex, d'Artagnan's legs parted, inviting Athos' hand. Athos chuckled darkly and moved to reach the oil. He came back quickly and settled his body over d'Artagnan's.

“But... what about you?” d'Artagnan asked.

“I told you I had plans,” Athos said, smirking.

D'Artagnan didn't get a chance to ask any more questions as Athos' skilled fingers were already pressing against him and his index finger breached him easily.

“Oh,” d'Artagnan moaned.

He never got over that feeling. That sudden breach. That feeling of Athos forcing his way into his body, the way his muscles pretended to resist even though every fibre of his body wanted Athos inside him. The way they suddenly gave in and parted for Athos. Every time it was amazing.

Athos began to move in and out of his body with a measured, careful pace. It wasn't slow but it wasn't particularly rapid, a fact d'Artagnan became grateful for when a second finger was added in quick order.

“Sir,” d'Artagnan moaned.

“That's right, my beautiful boy. Let me in. You know you want this.”

D'Artagnan writhed on the bed, arching against Athos' hand, his cock resting against his belly, aching. He went to touch it and Athos batted his hand away.

“Want to know my plan?” Athos asked, conversationally.

D'Artagnan moaned loudly as Athos began to twist his fingers, pulling against the muscles.

“Yes Sir,” d'Artagnan gasped.

“You are going to take three of my fingers into your body,” Athos said. “When you do, you are to begin stroking me. I will then fuck you, d'Artagnan. It will be hard and it will fast. Do you understand?”

“Oh God,” d'Artagnan moaned. “Yes. Yes, Sir. Please.”

“Neither of us, however, will be touching your cock. You are going to spend from my hand inside you and nothing else,” Athos said, his voice making d'Artagnan's skin prickle with heat.

“Yes Sir,” he moaned.

“If you spend too soon, though,” Athos continued. “It might make being fucked hurt and I won't stop until you bring me off. On the other hand, if I spend before you do then you'll be going without for the night.”

D'Artagnan moaned desperately, writhing on Athos' fingers, which were still moving inside him, twisting and scissoring, opening him for the third.

“Do you understand?” Athos asked.

“What... what do you recommend?” d'Artagnan asked, laughing slightly.

“Oh my lovely puppy,” Athos murmured. “Learn by doing.”

With that, he added a third finger.

D'Artagnan's hips arched off the bed at the feeling of being so stretched. He could feel himself open wide for Athos' fingers and he'd never felt so full before. He moaned and thrashed his head, trying to get a hold on the situation.

Athos coughed politely and had to stifle a chuckle when d'Artagnan's hand began scrabbling at his side in search of Athos' length. He sighed contentedly when the long fingers wrapped around him and had to suppress a wince at the speed with which d'Artagnan started.

It took a few seconds but gradually he got used to it and, true to his word, began to piston his three fingers in and out of d'Artagnan's body very rapidly. He could feel d'Artagnan twisting and trying to get away but Athos knew full well it was simply his attempt at staving off his orgasm. He wasn't that kind, though, and simply followed him with his hand, truly fucking the man.

D'Artagnan tried desperately to concentrate on the feel of Athos in his hand but he just couldn't focus on anything but the feeling of Athos' fingers ramming into him over and over. The man didn't lie. It was certainly hard and it was certainly fast. He could barely catch his breath and he could feel a hot liquid heat spreading through his stomach. He wasn't sure he could deal with this post orgasm so he renewed his efforts to concentrate on Athos.

The older man was watching in amusement. The work d'Artagnan had done earlier had Athos coiled like a spring and the sight of the man stretched out before him, his body rocking with the force of Athos' hand left him close to the edge. His head was filled with images of his he'd look when they finally made love and Athos groaned at the thought. The hand flexed around him and he couldn't stop himself thrusting into d'Artagnan's fist.

The Gascon heard the moan, felt the thrust and knew he was finally getting to Athos. He moaned helplessly and writhed on the bed, trying his hardest to concentrate but still, his body could only focus on the feel of the man taking him with such ferocity.

Athos smirked at the pitiful noise. It was somewhere between a plea for help and desperate plea for more. Athos simply continued but let himself become lost in sensation. He began to thrust regularly into d'Artagnan's hand, realising the man was never going to have enough presence of mind to multi task. He did, however, welcome the tightening of the fist around him and he began to fuck into it at the same speed at his hand was moving into d'Artagnan.

He came suddenly with a shock and he hunched his body over to press his face against d'Artagnan's neck. His hand stilled as his orgasm washed over him in hard, crashing waves. He jerked uncontrollably and his release pooled on the sheet beside d'Artagnan's body.

A low whining noise brought him to his senses after a minute or two and he lifted his head to see d'Artagnan writhing again.

“Puppy?” he asked, hoarsely.

“So close. God. So close, Sir. Please,” he gasped.

“Please what? You knew the game,” Athos remarked, his breathing still uneven.

“Please, Sir. Please. Please let me spend,” d'Artagnan whimpered.

Athos didn't have the energy to push himself back up but he did smirk at the pleading face beside his. He curled his fingers and quickly managed to find the small bulb of nerves.

“Ah! Ah, Athos! Sir! Oh God,” d'Artagnan moaned.

“Shhh,” hissed Athos into his ear.

D'Artagnan laughed and covered his mouth with his hands even as he began to moan again, even louder.

Athos kept up the gentle pressure, stroking and pressing against the sensitive bulb until suddenly d'Artagnan came with a muffled shout, striping his belly with his spend.

 


	76. Chapter 76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The four men prepare to leave Lyons

“Rise and shine!” came a voice.

Athos opened one eye and glared at the door. He'd managed to ignore the knocking for the last two or three minutes but that bloody cheerful voice was just too irritating.

“I think they know we're awake,” murmured d'Artagnan.

“I'm not,” Athos muttered.

D'Artagnan laughed and got up, leaving Athos stretched out on his back. He took a few steps and his cheeks flushed, the pleasant yet somehow warm ache in his body giving him very vivid flashbacks. He turned to look at Athos who was wearing a very smug smile.

“That's how it feels,” he murmured. “Every time.”

D'Artagnan blushed harder then bent to locate Athos' smalls. He threw them at the smirking man before donning his own.

“We can heeeear you,” Aramis sang through the door.

“Yeah, yeah. Give us a minute,” d'Artagnan replied.

“We're going for breakfast,” Porthos said.

“And if you're not there within thirty minutes, we'll be back for you,” Aramis threatened.

“I need new friends,” Athos grumbled, pulling himself upright.

“You have me,” d'Artagnan said, brightly.

“And you're up with the bloody birds most days,” he muttered.

D'Artagnan laughed and began running through the routine of stretches he'd learnt at the garrison. He looked at Athos expectantly.

“I'm fine, thank you,” Athos said, pulling his shirt on. He found his breeches and was doing them up when he realised d'Artagnan was still staring at him. “Yes?”

“You know what I'm going to say,” d'Artagnan said.

“It might be more forceful if you weren't so close to being nude,” Athos murmured, sauntering closer.

He wrapped his arms around d'Artagnan and kissed him soundly.

“You have to start taking better care of yourself,” d'Artagnan said the second Athos released him. He leaned backwards when Athos tried to kiss him again. “You can't just keep kissing me until I shut up.”

“Sure?” Athos asked, his hand smoothing across the expanse of skin on d'Artagnan's bare back.

“Yes,” d'Artagnan said firmly, pushing him away.

“You're no fun any more,” Athos pouted.

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


When they finally made it to breakfast downstairs it was to find Aramis and Porthos positively brimming with energy.

“Twenty eight,” Aramis said.

“Hmm?” Athos asked, signalling to the innkeeper.

“Twenty eight,” Aramis repeated.

D'Artagnan and Athos exchanged a confused look.

“Two minutes to spare before he came to get you,” Porthos explained, leaning back for the maid who brought more watered wine.

“I'm old,” muttered Athos.

“You're not that old,” d'Artagnan chuckled. “I mean you're younger than Ara... Porthos, right?”

Athos looked up to see the malevolent glare the marksman had levelled at d'Artagnan, causing him to change his assertion halfway.

“Dunno,” Porthos said, shrugging.

“He's never told you how old he is?” asked d'Artagnan.

“He has. I just don't know how old I am,” Porthos said.

D'Artagnan blinked in surprise and then realised. He had been alone from such a young age he had no idea what age that was.

“Porthos,” he said in a whisper. “I'm sorry.”

“S'alright. You didn't know,” Porthos said, shrugging again.

“No. I'm sorry for... I'm sorry it's even a fact,” d'Artagnan said.

“Ta,” Porthos said, looking away.

“Why are we even up this early?” Athos asked, less grumpy with a full glass of wine in him.

“ **We** are going to the Doctor,” Aramis reminded him.

“Yeah. So?” Athos asked, distracted by the sadness on d'Artagnan's face.

“Well if we're off to get medically cleared then **someone** has to make sure the horses are ready, our bedrolls are OK, we have provisions...”

“Alright,” muttered Athos.

“Doesn't normally take all day,” d'Artagnan said quietly.

“Different town. We've no idea who to go to for paper to pack our food,” Athos explained.

D'Artagnan nodded glumly.

“You didn't know,” Porthos repeated gently.

D'Artagnan looked up at him.

“I'm so spoiled,” he said suddenly.

The three men looked at him in surprise.

“Yes. A spoiled orphan,” Aramis said, drily.

“Sheltered, then,” d'Artagnan amended.

“So was I before I came to Paris,” Athos said.

“Aramis?” asked d'Artagnan.

“Paris is a rude awakening for everyone,” he answered, dodging the question. He felt Porthos' thigh press against his own in understanding. Some things he didn't share. “People from every single background thrown together will always cause culture shocks. Especially in the Musketeers where we are open to all.”

D'Artagnan nodded thoughtfully but didn't say anything as his and Athos' food was arriving.

“Right. We'll be back then, gentlemen,” Aramis said, standing and putting his hat on.

Porthos stood and donned his as well. He leaned over and clapped d'Artagnan on the shoulder, giving it a friendly squeeze. He refused to let go until he got a smile.

“You OK?” Aramis asked his brother as they left into the street.

“Yeah. I'm just tired of that reaction every time I'm honest about my background,” Porthos said with a sigh.

“Oh I meant about being out properly for the first time since being injured,” Aramis said.

They looked at each other in surprise and chuckled quietly. Aramis led them to the right, following the directions they'd gotten this morning .

“Sorry,” Aramis said. “It's a shocking background, Porthos. Even for someone from the Court. You were so young.”

“I just hate being pitied,” Porthos muttered.

Aramis stopped them walking and turned to face him.

“You think people pity you when they hear it? You think that's why we're shocked?” he asked. Porthos shrugged slightly. “Oh my friend, no. People are shocked because they see where you are now and find it hard to believe **anyone** could get there alone. It shocks people how strong you must be to have done it.”

Porthos gave him a weak smile and nodded. Aramis smiled and linked his arm in Porthos' as they resumed walking.

“So how are you about being outside?” he asked.

“Bit nervous, actually. I don't... If I stumble or am knocked or anything like that...” Porthos said, trailing off.

“Mmm. It concerns me, too. We're just going to be extra careful,” Aramis said.

  
  


Porthos was still limping when they got to the Doctor's salon but no more than he had been when they started.

“Porthos,” Aramis said, stopping him before they entered. “I know you want to leave but I am telling you, flat out, no negotiation, no arguments, you will be entirely honest with the Doctor and not lie, bend the truth or minimise anything to get out of here. Understand?”

Porthos nodded.

“Porthos,” Aramis said.

“Yes Sire,” Porthos whispered.

Aramis smiled his dazzling smile at him and pushed the door open.

“Can I help?” asked a young woman. She was sweeping the floor and clearly wore the garments of a housemaid.

“We're here to see Doctor Soyer,” Aramis said, bowing slightly and taking his hat off.

“Is he expecting you?” she asked with a frown.

“Ah. No, actually. He was due to visit us tomorrow but we were hoping to leave town before then,” Aramis answered.

“He's preparing to go on his rounds,” the maid said. “I'll see if he's available.”

Aramis bowed again and she left, disappearing behind a curtain.

“You don't think he'll be annoyed about the strap?” Porthos asked.

“It's where it belongs,” Aramis said, shrugging.

“Then I apologise for requesting its removal,” a quiet voice said.

They both turned to find the small Doctor had approached them quite in silence.

“Adele tells me you are hoping to leave Lyons tomorrow,” he said.

“Yes, Doctor. If we're able,” Aramis said, taking his cue from the Doctor and not mentioning his comment about the leather.

They hadn't realised how small Soyer was. They both stood over six feet tall and if Soyer was 5ft 9in Aramis would be surprised. His was simply looking from one to the other, though.

“Who am I examining first?” he asked.

“Porthos,” Aramis answered instantly.

“As it was last time,” the Doctor said, nodding. “Please, this way.”

Porthos gave Aramis a long look and followed the Doctor into the second room, hidden by the curtain. There was a doorway into a small square and a staircase but the room was dominated by a large wooden table.

“Please walk back and forth,” he instructed.

Porthos began to pace across the room, trying to hold himself upright but he caught Aramis' eye and stopped, letting himself limp as much as he needed. Doctor Soyer was nodding to himself.

“If you would please remove your breeches and sit upon the table,” Soyer said quietly.

Porthos complied and awkwardly hopped onto the table, leaving his breeches pooled around his ankles, caught on his boots.

Soyer quietly rolled Porthos' under-clothes up enough to view his less injured knee. The swelling had almost gone entirely. He wrapped his hands around it.

“Straighten your leg, please,” he said. He nodded to himself again when Porthos complied.

He repeated the action on the left leg, making no comment about the strap's return. He spent more time on this knee, carefully pressing his fingers against the kneecap and digging in behind it as well. Porthos grunted in pain and Soyer let go.

“If you recall I mentioned your knees had undergone a severe shock and were damaged inside the joint?” Soyer asked, looking up at Porthos.

“Yes but not permanently,” Aramis said. Soyer turned to face him.

“Correct. They had just swollen to protect themselves while they healed. It appears that process is nearly complete. My concern is still for the bone in the left knee,” Doctor Soyer said, addressing neither man in particular.

“It's still cracked?” Aramis guessed.

“Yes. The bruising has gone down remarkably well, though. Much better than I had expected, which makes me believe the crack wasn't as bad as I thought.”

“So we can go?” Porthos asked.

“Where is it you're going?” Soyer asked.

“We're riding up to Dijon,” Aramis answered. “Staying at a vineyard there for a couple of weeks.”

“Indeed. How will you be travelling?”

“Riding. Camping overnight. We were hoping I'd be allowed to do a little physical labour while there as well but that can be avoided if necessary,” Porthos said.

“Hmm. I cannot agree to the physical labour until the bruising has gone completely or there is no pain whatsoever. Whichever comes first,” Soyer said slowly. The Musketeers both nodded fervently. “The camping doesn't bother me at all. I have no issue with you sleeping on the ground. I assume you're still sleeping on your back since it hurts otherwise?” Porthos nodded again.

“Then continue with that. Sleep in any position you like as long as it doesn't hurt your knees. My concern is the riding,” Soyer continued, frowning.

“It's only a three day ride,” Porthos said, hopefully.

“And at walking pace?” Soyer asked.

“Four or five,” Aramis answered.

“With frequent stops?”

“How long and how frequent?”

“Ten minutes every two hours.”

“We do that anyway for the horses,” Aramis said. “Four or five days at walking pace.”

“You intend to leave when?”

“Tomorrow morning, after we've breakfasted,” Aramis answered.

“Then I approve. I'd like you to continue with the exercises I gave you at least three times a day until you feel both knees are back to full strength. If the pain or swelling gets any worse on the journey, you must take a minimum of a two hour rest. If it continues to get worse then an entire day,” he listed.

Both the Musketeers were nodding. They watched as Doctor Soyer collected a piece of charcoal and drew a line around the bottom of the swollen part of Porthos' knee.

“Now you can track it. If the swelling comes past that line, the strap must come off again,” he said. This time he spoke only to Aramis who nodded in reply.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Porthos said, brightly. He got off the table and replaced his breeches.

“Yes. Thank you,” Aramis said. “Our Captain has asked you write him a letter detailing your approval of our leaving.”

“I have approved **him** ,” Soyer said, calmly.

Aramis started to protest but Doctor Soyer cut across him, surprisingly firm.

“I would assume your Captain is going to review my recommendation before giving you leave to depart. If I do not clear you then I would imagine your friend here will be leaving without you.”

Aramis narrowed his eyes but didn't reply.

“Your shirt, if you will, Monsieur,” Soyer said quietly.

Aramis sighed in defeat and began removing his belts, handing them to Porthos. Soyer watched him without comment but Aramis felt the urge to apologise.

“I carry lots of things,” he said, chuckling slightly.

Soyer didn't reply and continued to watch him.

Aramis turned his back on Soyer to hand Porthos his sash and coat. He gave Porthos an incredulous look and Porthos had to stifle a laugh. Soyer certainly was an odd duck but Porthos would never forget the man quite probably saved Aramis' life.

When he'd given his shirt to Porthos as well, Aramis turned back to the Doctor.

“You see. Bruising has gone down almost entirely. There's just this patch here. Still some pain here where the ribs are cracked but that's to be expected,” Aramis said, brightly.

“Lay down please,” Soyer said.

Aramis threw Porthos another look before doing as he was asked. Soyer's hands were much firmer than Aramis remembered as they palpated around the area.

“You still haven't been resting, have you?” Soyer asked.

“Well I haven't done anything particularly strenuous,” Aramis said defensively. Unfortunately from this angle he could see the smirk on Porthos' face and he had to stop himself laughing.

“I would have expected you to have healed better than this were that true,” Soyer said, unaware of the silent exchange behind him. “It feels to me as if rather than protecting the area, your muscles have been in use. Just as they will be should you be riding for five days.”

Aramis winced when Soyer's fingers pressed against the broken ribs. He looked over at Porthos who was wagging his finger like a stern matron and again he had to stifle a laugh.

“I've ridden with broken ribs before,” Aramis said.

“I'm sure,” he said, continuing to press along Aramis' abdomen. “Your muscles protect your ribs by holding you upright. I want your muscles to be protecting your belly.”

“They can't do both?” Aramis asked.

Soyer gave him a stern look and Aramis looked apologetic. Soyer moved on and Aramis didn't dare look at Porthos in case he made him laugh. He gave a surprised yelp when the Doctor's fingers pressed against a surprisingly tender sport on his hip.

“Hurt more than the ribs?” Soyer asked.

Aramis thought for a moment and then pressed his ribs with his own fingers.

“No,” he answered. “Just surprised.”

Soyer nodded and continued his exploration. Aramis let his eyes roam again and invariably found Porthos who was frowning in concern. He raised his eyebrows and Aramis nodded in reply, silently confirming that yes, he was being honest.

“I will clear you for travel as well,” Soyer said finally, stepping back. “I once again implore you to take care and make more of an effort to rest. I am content for you to ride but, like your friend, walking pace only.”

Aramis grinned and got off the table, striding quickly to where Porthos was sat and took his shirt.

“I'm serious, Monsieur. If your belly fills with blood again I cannot guarantee your body will be able to heal itself again. Much like an external wound needs care and protection, yours does as well. No more strenuous exercise until all the bruising has faded,” Soyer said, sternly.

Aramis tugged his braces up onto his shoulder and nodded excitedly.

“I understand, Doctor. My friend here has heard you as well and I'm sure he won't let me forget your words,” Aramis said, grinning.

Doctor Soyer looked between the two and whatever he was searching for, he seemed to find it. He dug into his bag on the floor and retrieved a quill and paper.

Aramis continued redressing while Soyer scratched away at the parchment and he shared an excited look with Porthos.

A few minutes later, they left, thanking Doctor Soyer profusely, sealed letter in hand.

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


“Why does everyone hide things?” d'Artagnan asked suddenly.

Athos looked at him, unsurprised. They'd been walking through the city collecting items they'd need all morning and d'Artagnan had been unusally quiet.

“You mean Porthos?” he asked.

“Him. Aramis. All of you,” d'Artagnan answered, sighing.

Athos regarded him for a moment. He didn't seem particularly upset, just weary. The Musketeer didn't reply for a moment, simply paying the stall holder they were currently stood by. He handed d'Artagnan the bag of horse feed and started walking again.

“As Aramis said, the Musketeers are made up from a variety of walks of life. The roads many of us took to get here were full of pain. Not many of us had a straight, clean pain free path to the King's service,” Athos said quietly.

“I have,” d'Artagnan sighed.

“Your father dying in your arms? Your mission to avenge his death becoming a political minefield resulting in over turning my own death sentence with seconds to spare? Proving yourself to the Captain by receiving your own death sentence and being thrown in the Chatelet?” Athos asked.

D'Artagnan sighed again.

“I know but I... I landed on my feet. It was pure luck I'd killed that man at the inn. If I didn't have any information, Porthos and Aramis would never have come back to me and none of this would have ever happened,” he muttered.

“Luck?” asked Athos, stopping in the street. “D'Artagnan it was not luck that allowed you to overcome those men. You defeated two men we now know to be Red Guards with no official training. You kept your head about you when you thought your own father might be dead. You made your way to Paris and tracked me down. Everything that happened subsequently with Vadim was your own doing. You are remarkable, d'Artagnan, not lucky.”

D'Artagnan blinked in surprise at the earnest words and he nodded slowly. Athos smiled at him, one of those rare genuine smiles that seemed to take ten years off him.

“Everyone has their own tale to tell and their own reasons for keeping it,” Athos said, walking again.

D'Artagnan nodded and fell into step beside him.

“I guess I know that,” he said quietly. “Just hurts sometimes to feel like an outsider."

"One day I hope you cease calling yourself that and understand how important you are to us all, d'Artagnan. You are one of us."

 


	77. Chapter 77

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain Trévile lays down his own requirements for leaving the city.

Captain Tréville was reading Doctor Soyer's letter through for the second time, well aware of four pairs of eyes staring at him in anticipation, their lunch untouched.

“You understand the conditions he has set?” Tréville asked Aramis, handing the letter to Athos for his perusal.

“We do, Captain,” Aramis answered quickly. “I will personally make sure they're adhered to.”

“And Porthos. Will you take responsibility for Aramis following instructions?” Tréville asked.

Porthos laughed and nodded at his Captain while Aramis pouted beside him. Athos handed the letter back to Captain Tréville and nodded his assent to him.

“You are to take a minimum of five days. You are to stay on the road but for sleeping. You are to scout the areas for sleep each time for a minimum of twenty full minutes before choosing. You are not to take watches alone or as a pair. Either Athos or d'Artagnan must be with you at all times. You are not to split up, however frustrated any of you get at the slow pace,” Tréville listed, looking sternly between the two, including Athos and d'Artagnan in his last instruction.

Three heads nodded enthusiastically and one, Athos', slowly.

Tréville finally let himself smile softly at them all.

“Then you have my consent to leave. I will inform Martine you **will** be visiting with her tonight to say your goodbyes and I will come and see you off in the morning,” Tréville said.

“Thanks Captain,” Porthos said.

“Yes Captain,” d'Artagnan said, grinning.

“Eat your lunch,” the Captain said waving their attention away.

Athos allowed himself an indulgent smile at the enthusiasm with which his brothers dived into their food before requesting an update on the investigation.

  
  


  
  


  
  


Porthos could feel Aramis' eyes on him as he mounted his horse. They were preparing to visit Madame Truyart for supper and were riding as a dry run for leaving.

“We're only going to the other side of town,” he said once he was seated.

“I'm allowed to be concerned,” Aramis sniffed.

“And apparently I'm allowed to be bossy,” Porthos said, watching Aramis mount beside him.

“Who told you that?”

“The Captain. He said I'm responsible for making you follow instructions,” Porthos said, shrugging.

“Doctor Soyer's instructions,” Aramis said pointedly.

“I didn't hear him make that distinction. Did you d'Artagnan? Athos?” asked Porthos as the four of them walked out of the stables and into the street.

“I certainly didn't,” called d'Artagnan brightly.

“Athos?” Porthos prompted.

“If you think I'm getting involved in this you know nothing about me, Porthos,” Athos said, smiling despite himself.

“Have I made a mistake by siding with Porthos?” d'Artagnan stage-whispered.

Porthos snorted and Aramis turned in his saddle to grin wolfishly at d'Artagnan.

“Oi. Eyes front. No twisting,” Porthos barked.

The dirty look he received from Aramis made him laugh, the sound echoing through the street as the four of them rode slowly together.

  
  


  
  


“It has been such a pleasure,” Madame Truyart was saying as they took their leave, well after midnight. She'd kept them there for a long time, eager to ask more and more questions about the Truyart they knew before she met him. Porthos understood. Saying goodbye to men who knew him and drawing a line under the investigation was another painful way of saying goodbye to him.

“If only it had been under better circumstances,” Aramis said, bowing and kissing her hand.

“Yes, if only,” she agreed.

Porthos took Aramis' place and kissed her hand as well, though he didn't bow as Aramis did.

“He was a good man and I'm glad he found such a good woman,” he said.

Martine smiled tearfully at him and stroked Porthos' cheek in thanks.

“I hope one day you can return home,” d'Artagnan said, stepping close and taking her hand. Like Aramis, he bowed low.

“I think that's unlikely but I thank you for saying it,” she said, chuckling slightly.

Before d'Artagnan could say anything and ruin the surprise, Athos smoothly stepped in his place.

“Please, Madame. Should you have any further need of us, tell Captain Tréville and I'm sure he will do everything in his power to help. I hope that one day, the good this investigation has done will make the pain less raw for you,” he said.

“Would it for you?” Martine asked, sadly.

Athos bowed his head in both silent apology and farewell and she nodded gratefully, for both.

The four of them mounted up and rode slowly back to the inn, each man lost in their own thoughts. Despite the excitement of leaving in the morning, the four of them went to bed without further conversation.

  
  


  
  


“Do you ever feel you're missing out with me?” Aramis asked.

“No,” Porthos said quickly. “Do you?”

“No.”

Silence fell between them. Porthos was stretched out on his back with Aramis curled up, his back pressed against Porthos' side. One of Porthos' arms was trapped under Aramis' body and the marksman was holding his hand tightly, cradling it to his bare stomach.

“Why are you asking?” Porthos said softly.

“Just... Truyart found a life outside the Musketeers. A woman he loved. A little business. I expect they would have had kids eventually. Sounds idyllic, doesn't it?” Aramis said, frowning.

“I suppose,” Porthos said in confusion.

Aramis turned slightly so he could see Porthos' face.

"What are you asking, Aramis?"

“I wonder, sometimes, if I'm keeping you from that life,” he admitted quietly.

“My life with you is the only one I want. I've loved you for nearly ten years, Aramis. I have built my life around you. You are the reason, Aramis. My life is with you and it's the only one I want,” Porthos said, equally quiet. The honesty in his words was clear with every syllable.

Aramis turned over to kiss Porthos and felt the strong arms go around him.

  
  


  
  


  
  


“Are you OK?” d'Artagnan asked, stroking Athos' stomach.

“Of course, puppy,” Athos answered.

They were in their normal position, d'Artagnan's head on Athos' chest. D'Artagnan lifted his head to peer carefully at Athos.

“Why do you think I'm upset?” the Musketeer asked.

“Just... that last thing she said. About whether the benefit of a spouse's death would make it hurt less,” d'Artagnan said gently.

“I hate that she's right,” Athos admitted with a sigh.

D'Artagnan lay his head back down and resumed tracing small patterns in the soft hair of Athos' stomach.

“She was a thief, a liar and a murderer," Athos said wearily. "God knows how many other people she would have killed. Anyone who knew her secret, I would guess. I probably saved many lives by ending that deception, despite the loss of my brother's."

“But?” d'Artagnan prompted.

“It doesn't make the pain of his, and what I thought was her, death any less,” Athos said. "I miss my brother and... I missed her. I loved her and when she... when I thought she died... It hurt, no matter what good it did."

They lapsed into silence but it was surprisingly comfortable. D'Artagnan's fingers continued to stroke across Athos' stomach while he stroked d'Artagnan's hair.

“Father's death brought me to you,” d'Artagnan said quietly. “I... Never mind.”

“D'Artagnan?” Athos prompted gently, his fingers toying with the black hair.

“I feel awful for saying it,” d'Artagnan whispered.

“Sometimes you're grateful for what's happened to you after he died?” Athos guessed.

D'Artagnan turned slightly and buried his face in Athos' chest, tears leaking from his eyes.

“Shh. You aren't pleased about the results of his death. You're just grateful something good happened **after** the horror of losing him,” Athos soothed. “It was an order of events, not a cause.”

D'Artagnan wasn't listening, though. It had been so long since he'd thought of his father as much as he had today. Since joining with the Musketeers, he'd felt on the go the entire time. This was the first time they hadn't been in the middle of an investigation and he'd had cause to consider his grief.

Something had changed between him and Athos since then, however. They weren't just physically connected. They were emotionally intimate. Athos shared parts of himself that he despised with d'Artagnan and in return, d'Artagnan felt able to share the parts of himself he was ashamed by, like the lost little boy crying over his father.

Athos seemed to understand. Strong hands just stroked up and down his back and arm, letting him just relax against Athos.

“I miss my Father,” he whispered and slowly let himself cry.

Athos didn't move a muscle and simply continued to stroke up and down d'Artagnan's back. It was as though he could feel the emotion leaking out of him. All the feelings he'd been trying to control, trying to keep under wraps, trying to be strong about. Gradually, he felt the man in his arms drift off to sleep and when he felt sleep pulling at him, he didn't even try and resist.

  
  


  
  


 

“I would have expected you two to be as eager as us to leave,” Aramis said quietly.

He and d'Artagnan were packing their belongings up on to the horses while Porthos did a final sweep of their rooms to make sure they hadn't forgotten anything. Athos was still reviewing the state of things with Tréville.

“We are,” d'Artagnan replied quickly.

“You both seem subdued,” Aramis pressed.

“I could say the same of you two. You certainly aren't the balls of energy I'd expected today,” d'Artagnan replied, tightening the straps around Athos' bedroll.

“I think perhaps the reality of leaving while still limited by injuries has not been the freeing experience we anticipated,” Aramis mused. He peered at d'Artagnan over the horse he was looking after. “I see Athos has been teaching you how to evade your friends questions.”

D'Artagnan looked up briefly and smiled.

“He's not the only one who does it,” he said quietly.

“Touché,” Aramis said, inclining his head. “We all have our private lives.”

“I know. I've had this conversation already,” muttered d'Artagnan.

“Thus the quiet?” Aramis guessed.

“Part of it,” d'Artagnan said nodding.

“Do you want to talk about the rest?”

“No but thank you,” d'Artagnan answered, politely.

“Perhaps that reaction shows more of an understanding than you realise about us clinging to our privacy?” Aramis asked quietly.

D'Artagnan gave him a small smile and they let the subject drop. As he was finishing his horse and turned his attention to Porthos', the man himself came walking into the stables.

“You not finished yet?” he asked.

Aramis threw an apple at him and he caught it easily, taking a large bite out of it.

“Still hungry?” Aramis asked.

“Always,” Porthos answered, grinning around his mouthful.

His mare started nuzzling with interest and Porthos took another bite before feeding the rest to her. The three of them finished in a comfortable silence and were just leading the animals out when Tréville and Athos joined them.

“I am deadly serious,” the Captain said, looking between all four of them. “If any one of you deviates from my, and the Doctor's, explicit instructions, I will make myself a new coinpurse from the skin I take off your hides.”

“Yes Captain,” they chorused.

As they mounted up, they could see an unmistakeable look of worry on his face. They each said a small goodbye and walked out onto the main street.

“I'll look after them,” Athos said quietly, turning his horse to follow.

Tréville nodded and, seemingly on impulse, reached up to clasp Athos' hand in both of his. He gave a small squeeze before stepping back. Athos tipped his hat and joined his brothers.

  
  


  
  


An hour out of the city, Aramis sighed loudly. Athos turned behind him to see he'd taken his hat off and had turned his face up to the sun.

“Perfect travelling weather,” he said, sighing again.

“I agree,” d'Artagnan said fervently.

The weather was much warmer in Gascony and the man seemed to soak up sun like he was made for it. Athos found himself staring at the way the sunlight made the bronze skin of his face glow slightly.

“How are you doing, Porthos?” Athos asked.

“It's weird having to grip with my calves more than my knees but fine,” Porthos answered. “Aramis?”

“Fine, fine,” he said, his eyes closed. “Enjoying the sun, the breeze, the fresh air, my friends.”

Athos smiled and they continued on.

  
  


  
  


When they made camp the night was still warm. Athos led them off the road and found them a spot well secluded from the road and wasn't surprised when Aramis and d'Artagnan stripped their jackets off. He gestured for them to get some food ready while he completed Tréville's minimum time scouting.

Aramis stretched out on his back and groped around to locate the plate of food Porthos had given him.

“You could help, you know,” Aramis said.

“I could, you're right,” Porthos said from where he was sat, leaning against the tree behind him.

“I'm supposed to be resting,” Aramis pouted.

“So am I,” Porthos said.

“You could sit closer and help,” he whined.

“I could,” Porthos said, laughing. “I really feel the support of this tree is vital, though.”

“I'm an injured man and even my best friend won't help me,” Aramis sighed.

D'Artagnan laughed despite himself and lifted the plate of food onto Aramis' stomach.

“Why thank you, d'Artagnan. I'm so pleased someone cares about me,” Aramis sniffed. A low chuckle sounded from Porthos.

“Maybe I should ask Athos for a trade,” Aramis mused, lifting his head so he could see the food.

“I doubt he'll agree,” a quiet voice said.

Porthos grinned at Athos who had rejoined them.

“You don't want me?” he teased as Athos sat beside d'Artagnan.

“I'm not sure I could.. handle you,” Athos said, a sly smile on his face.

Porthos and Aramis both laughed and d'Artagnan looked between the three of them suspiciously.

“I'm missing something again,” he said, frowning.

“Athos is making a rather dirty joke about Porthos' attributes,” Aramis explained.

He handed the plate behind him to Porthos before sitting up and sitting beside his lover.

“I don't get it,” d'Artagnan said, frowning in annoyance.

“I do.” Aramis smirked. “Regularly.”

“Oh!” d'Artagnan exclaimed and the three Musketeers all grinned at him.

“You're... He's saying you're....” he stammered, unsure how to ask.

“Blessed,” Aramis supplied.

Porthos snorted.

“Don't let him fool you. He's not exactly small.”

“Not in the same way,” Aramis argued. “While I may be... tall... I am not blessed with the... build you are.”

Porthos inclined his head and D'Artagnan looked at Athos for confirmation who just chuckled.

“And you...” he asked. He could feel his cheeks heating with his inexperience. Athos' cock was the only he'd seen other than his own and while they were a similar size to one another he wasn't sure how they... measured up.

“I am perfectly average as far as I know,” Athos said, smiling. He leaned forward and kissed d'Artagnan on the forehead.

“So...” Aramis asked.

D'Artagnan looked up at them in horror.

“You've seen Athos. You now know of us. When do we get to hear about you?” Aramis teased. “We were hoping for the shape of a hoe given your farming background.”

“Maybe a scythe?” Porthos suggested.

Aramis nodded thoughtfully.

“Ah! I have it. A pitchfork?”

“Uhm... Average?” d'Artagnan squeaked, leaning closer to Athos.

“It seems Gascony isn't as different as we thought,” Aramis said, grinning.

“Seems to be keeping Athos happy at any rate,” Porthos said.

“Oh we haven't-” d'Artagnan began but stopped suddenly, looking at Athos.

“Yeeees?” asked Aramis slowly.

“We are waiting until we are home in our own lodgings before we take certain steps,” Athos replied.

“Hear that, Porthos? It seems it's Paris all round,” Aramis said, smirking.

“Paris all round?” asked d'Artagnan, unable to stop himself.

Porthos closed his eyes and d'Artagnan immediately regretted asking.

“Shall I tell or will you?” asked Aramis.

“Sire,” Porthos said through gritted teeth. For the first time it wasn't actually sharing details with d'Artagnan that made him tense. After this long, any reminder of their arrangement made his cock twitch in anticipation.

“If you're going to keep making that face I think I'll definitely make you explain,” Aramis said, smirking.

“Perhaps I can explain,” Athos said quietly to everyone's surprise.

Aramis nodded in silence and d'Artagnan's attention immediately swivelled to Athos.

“One of the many things Aramis has complete authority over is how and when Porthos finds completion,” he said, his voice soft.

“And if,” Aramis put in with a wicked glance at Porthos.

“And if?” d'Artagnan repeated in a whisper.

“Indeed,” Athos murmured.

“So there are times when...” d'Artagnan asked in a hushed voice.

“When he does not permit it at all, yes,” Athos confirmed.

“Can I... ask more?” d'Artagnan said quietly looking between Aramis and Porthos, the latter of which still hadn't opened his eyes. They both gave small nods, though. Aramis' hand strayed to Porthos' thigh and gave him a reassuring squeeze.

“How long since you last let him...” d'Artagnan asked.

“Do you know, I'm not actually sure. I don't really keep track. Mi vida?”

“Châtillon-sur-Seine,” Porthos answered through clenched teeth.

D'Artagnan gave a low whistle. That was weeks ago. Before they got to Lyons even.

“And now... Paris?” he asked.

“Yep,” Aramis said brightly, licking his fingers clean.

“Don't you ever do that,” d'Artagnan said fiercely, turning to Athos.

  
  


  
  


It was several hours later and Athos and Aramis were on watch together when Aramis finally asked what he'd been wondering since Athos had offered to explain.

“Since when did you voluntarily have such personal conversations with us?”

Athos turned to look at him from where he'd been studying a map of their route.

“If d'Artagnan is becoming comfortable enough to ask questions, I would not discourage him. I believe his fear is that I will leave him for men more experienced and with whom I have a history,” Athos said. “If more knowledge and being able to tease you both more alleviates that, I will do what I can.”

“I can see that. You haven't spoken any more about it, then?” Aramis asked.

“No and I don't intend to until I have to,” Athos answered.

“With all due respect, my friend, I wouldn't wait that long,” Aramis said quietly.

“Aramis. I am taking this at his pace,” he replied sharply.

“And I understand that,” soothed Aramis. “I just meant that if something happens and the situation arises before you've had a chance to have that conversation it will be ten times worse. Do you think either of you would be calm and rational enough to make the right decision if you were already distressed?”

Athos lapsed into a brooding silence and Aramis left him to think while he cleaned his pistol.

  
  


  
  


  
  


“I'm sorry,” d'Artagnan said suddenly.

“For what?” Porthos asked, frowning down at d'Artagnan. He was stood leaning against a tree going through Doctor Soyer's exercises and some extras that d'Artagnan recognised as Tréville's. D'Artagnan was sat watching him while Athos and Aramis were sleeping a short distance away.

“For getting so personal,” he explained.

“S'OK. We would have told you if it wasn't,” Porthos replied, shrugging slightly.

“I can't tell you how much I appreciate not being excluded,” d'Artagnan said in a small voice.

“Why would we exclude you?” Porthos asked.

“Well the three of you... You're... You've always been the three of you,” d'Artagnan said.

“Rubbish. Aramis was just himself at first. Then it was two of us. Then it was three of us. Now it's four of us,” Porthos said, shrugging again.

“It's not that simple though, is it?” d'Artagnan asked, poking at the fire moodily.

“Why not?” asked Porthos, sitting down beside d'Artagnan.

“You share more as a trio than the four of us ever will,” he said, frowning.

“Me and Aramis share more than we'll ever share with Athos. You and 'im share more than he's ever shared with us,” Porthos said. “When are you going to get it through your thick skull that a different kind of relationship is not less than any other?”

“It's not like the four of us are ever going to be rolling around in bed together though, is it?” d'Artagnan asked sarcastically.

Porthos stared at him for long seconds before answering.

“You've met Aramis, right?”

 


	78. Chapter 78

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The four of them arrive at the vineyard and spend their first few days there.

By the fourth day of their journey, Aramis and Porthos were grating on Athos' nerves. They were both whining like children about not being allowed to speed up on their horses. He getting particularly annoyed that D'Artagnan too was no help, equally eager to stop this plodding along. Athos had to admit he was finding it tedious as well but they had their instructions and he would not risk hurting either of them. Another dramatic sigh from behind him had him clenching his jaw.

When he led them off the road to begin looking for a place to camp there was a disgruntled murmur that ran through them all. He tried hard to block them out and found a suitable clearing in less than ten minutes.

“D'Artagnan,” he said quietly. “Scout with me, please.”

Aramis and Porthos grumbled together and d'Artagnan shared a quick comment with them before reluctantly coming to join Athos. The senior man clenched his jaw all the tighter, correctly guessing the comment was about him.

They walked into the line of the trees, searching carefully for any sign of regular foot traffic that might imply brigands in the area. Athos stopped abruptly and turned to d'Artagnan.

“You could help,” he snapped.

“I am helping,” d'Artagnan replied, gesturing at the floor.

“With them. All I have heard for three days is how fed up you all are. No matter that I am **trying** to put their welfare first. I am **trying** to protect them from their own eagerness and I am **trying** to make sure we follow our Captain's orders. Instead I feel like a governess trying to get three children to take their medicine,” Athos said, his voice growing more and more clipped as he spoke.

D'Artagnan stared at him in shock.

“I'm not allowed to be honest any more?” he snapped back.

“If you were on duty for the king and felt bored would you expect me to permit you to complain about it the entire time?” Athos asked.

“The King's not here,” d'Artagnan retorted.

“I am,” Athos said firmly.

“And you're better than us, I guess,” d'Artagnan said angrily.

“Right now, yes. I am a better solider than each of you given the amount of griping and moaning you're all doing,” Athos snapped. “The behaviour you three are displaying is not fitting of the Musketeers. Those two are injured and feel responsible for slowing the two of us down. You, have no such excuse.”

“So they're better than me, too?” d'Artagnan asked, his temper rising. “I'm just a terrible, terrible let down?”

“They are being their insular, selfish, irritating selves because they're in pain. You are being this childish and unsupportive because...”

Athos left the sentence hanging in mid-air and he watched the words hit d'Artagnan like a blow to the stomach. He stared back while d'Artagnan simply gaped at him.

“Childish and unsupportive?” he echoed.

“Childishly complaining while forgetting your orders and unsupportive in not helping me remind them why we have them,” Athos explained, his voice calmer but no warmer.

D'Artagnan's face fell and Athos yearned to comfort him but this wasn't a lover's moment. He continued to let the silence hang until d'Artagnan finally raised his head. Athos felt a flicker of pride at the determination in his eyes.

“I apologise,” he said formally.

Athos gave a single nod and reached out to squeeze his shoulder.

“Let's continue.”

  
  


  
  


  
  


“The vineyard is only about four hours away,” Aramis muttered. “We could have made it tonight quite easily.”

“Before the sun set without this bloody walking,” Porthos agreed.

Their eyes slid expectantly to d'Artagnan and the Gascon realised just how much grumbling he must have been doing that they naturally expected him to join in. On this occasion, he didn't. He just ate his food in silence. While Athos didn't say anything, he did feel the man relax slightly at his side.

“Reckon we'll need to set up watches at the house?” Porthos asked.

“Hopefully not. I think I'd like to the first two nights until we've been into the village and seen how people react to our presence,” Athos said slowly.

“You think people might be a bit sore about our having killed half the landowners surrounding the village?” Aramis asked.

“Something like that,” Athos said, drily.  
  


  
  


  
  


They arrived shortly after noon and this time led all four horses into the stables, seeing no reason for stealth like last time. As they came in the kitchen door, Aramis stopped and stared across the grass.

“Aramis?” Porthos asked, seeing that he'd stopped.

“They're gone,” Aramis said, frowning.

The others passed their eyes over the area they'd buried the men they'd felled last visit.

“Phoebe,” d'Artagnan said, faintly.

They all looked at one another. While none of them were particularly pleased about taking anyone's life, the fact that the young maid had died without anyone but Martine Truyart to mourn her hit them all hard. It was just desperately sad. The thought that her resting place might have been disturbed was unthinkable.

“We'll check,” Athos promised.

  
  


  
  


 

Once they were unpacked, moving into the same rooms they occupied on their last visit, Athos and d'Artagnan went to visit the pavilion behind which Phoebe lay. The signs of a recent burial were there but it didn't seem untouched since then. D'Artagnan took some flowers from the magnolia tree growing beside the pavilion and fashioned a small cross and a P, which he laid upon the grave.

He felt fingertips press gently against the small of his back and turned to smile at Athos. They walked back to the house in silence. Only when they finally sat in the kitchen did Athos speak.

“She's still there,” he said. “It seems the goal in moving the others wasn't to cover up what happened. We could see the barn from out there and it doesn't seem to have been touched.”

“They were most likely moved by their families, then?” asked d'Artagnan. Athos nodded.

“Nobody cared enough to move her,” Porthos muttered.

Aramis touched his knee under the table in sympathy. In his lowest moments he'd talked to Aramis about the anger he felt seeing the lavish, ornate tombs for the rich when the poor, unwanted children from the Court were ignored. He'd often said the smell of bodies in the summer never quite left him.

“So what's the plan?” he asked, turning to d'Artagnan in an attempt to distract them all.

D'Artagnan looked at Athos expectantly and then started slightly when he realised all three of them were looking at him.

“Oh! Right!” he said, grinning. “Well we'll go field by field, clearing the debris. Then we'll turn the soil and then... what?”

Athos was smiling at him but shaking his head slightly.

“We, the three of us are going to prepare lunch. Why don't you take a horse and see exactly what there is to do and come up with a reasonable day by day plan,” Athos said gently.

“Oh... Yeah. That makes sense,” he said, nodding.

“Don't be too ambitious. Remember there's only two and two halves of us,” Athos warned.

D'Artagnan nodded again and disappeared out the door.  
  


  
  


  
  


The plan he returned with was, indeed, a bit too ambitious. It included rebuilding the trellises and turning the earth ready for planting on all four fields. Athos vetoed them both but did add cleaning the cellar downstairs, which he suggested they make a start on that afternoon.

When they got downstairs, Porthos and Aramis both grumbled about being maids but all knew they didn't mean it. It made them feel good to be up and about, doing something productive. Aramis did have to ask for help carrying a bucket of water down the stairs and Athos tried to applaud him for doing so without being patronising. The roll of the eyes he got let him know he'd failed.

Together the four of them cleared the floor of the smashed barrels and took them out for a fire. They also managed to wash the floor twice and salvage most of the books. It was, therefore, an exhausted four men that retired to bed that night. Athos and d'Artagnan had agreed to stay downstairs since Athos was still forbidding the others from taking any watches. D'Artagnan stretched out on the sofa and fell asleep almost instantly. Athos leaned down to kiss his forehead tenderly before going on a small patrol.

They fell into an easy rhythm over the next few days. Aramis and Porthos were being very vigilant about not stressing their injuries and became largely responsible for preparing food while d'Artagnan ran the house clearance project. Athos maintained he was supervising but he did get thoroughly stuck in to the labour when they were outside.

 

On the third day, Aramis and Athos decided to visit the village and found they were actually rather welcome. As the men who had brought an end to the blackmail and vandalism in the area, they were not subject to the hostility they'd feared. It seemed Truyart had been a much loved landowner and as the men who uncovered how he died, they were being celebrated.

A visit to the graveyard revealed the men they'd killed had, indeed, been laid to rest with their families. Aramis spoke a few words over each of them. Sadly they still couldn't find anyone who knew of any family the maid might have had. The priest offered to have her moved into the village as well but Athos thought there was hardly a place more beautiful than where she currently lay between the magnolia trees. He did ask that a headstone be funded for her by the people.

It was with a much lighter heart, then, that they returned to the house to find Porthos and d'Artagnan arguing about what to have for dinner.

“You like my stew!” Porthos was protesting.

“It's too hot for stew,” d'Artagnan moaned.

“We need good food in us for this physical work,” Porthos was arguing.

“Children,” Aramis said affectionately.

“Uh oh. Mother and Father are home,” Porthos said. He smiled as Aramis crossed the room in three strides and kissed him lightly.

“Am I Mother now?” Aramis asked.

“Well he's definitely Father,” Porthos said, releasing Aramis and returning to the board he was chopping on.

“D'Artagnan,” Athos said quietly. “What dish are you offering to cook?”

“I thought **they** were cooking,” he moaned.

“Then you will eat what you're given,” Athos said, a smile twitching his lips.

Predictably Porthos made a told-you-so face and d'Artagnan threw the spoon he was holding at him.

  
  


  
  


 

Later that night Porthos woke up to the feel of Aramis fidgeting around beside him. He sat up to see him examining his bruises

"Sire?" he asked groggily.

“They're gone,” he announced.

“They're not,” Porthos argued.

“I want them to be,” Aramis pouted, flopping onto his back.

Porthos leaned over and started stroking Aramis' bruises himself.

“I know, love. They're going down, though. Another few days and all the purple will be gone,” Porthos soothed.

Aramis sighed dramatically and reached up to Porthos' hand, pushing it pointedly lower. Porthos gave his low, sexy chuckle and obediently began to palm at Aramis through his linens.

“Mmm. You can do better than that,” Aramis murmured.

Porthos chuckled again and deftly unlaced the garment before seeking out his member and drawing it gently out.

Aramis' hips bucked impatiently into Porthos' hand and he soon got the message. Both of their cocks were quickly becoming hard but it was only Aramis' that would be getting any attention.

He was demanding and impatient but Porthos' hand knew him so well it was only a matter of minutes before Aramis' toes were curling with imminent release. He shouted loudly, though, when Porthos leaned over and took him into his mouth, swirling his tongue firmly around the head of his cock, and swallowed down the resulting spend.

  
  


  
  


D'Artagnan woke suddenly, hearing a distant shout, his hand flying to his pistol where it lay on the floor. He looked around for Athos and couldn't see him so he rolled off the sofa to his knees, picking up his pistol as he went. Getting to his feet he scooped up his sword belt in his other hand and crept silently through to the main hall. Athos was just coming in from the kitchen and raised his eyebrow at d'Artagnan.

“What was that?” he whispered.

“Aramis,” Athos answered, wearily.

“They're insatiable,” d'Artagnan said, shaking his head and straightening from his crouch.

He trudged back to the living room with Athos trailing behind him.

“As am I. As are you,” Athos pointed out.

“Very true," d'Artagnan said grinning. "Since I'm awake I may as well take over,” he added, gesturing for Athos to take his place on the sofa.

Athos smiled and began undoing his belts, laying them on the floor. He stripped his doublet off as well and lay down.

D'Artagnan dropped to his knees beside Athos' hips and began unbuttoning Athos' breeches.

“I thought you were taking over the watch?” he asked, smirking.

“We're in limbo. You're finishing yours and I'm about to start mine,” d'Artagnan said, shrugging.

Athos watched with amusement as d'Artagnan made his way through both of Athos' garments and began to stroke his soft cock gently. He experimented with different touches until he found a firm stroking with just the pads of his fingers was what Athos seemed to like. He marvelled at the way Athos filled out and hardened in his hand and felt a thrill of pride that this time, it was entirely his own doing. He circled the base with his finger and thumb and leaned forwards.

“Just lick,” Athos said in a hoarse whisper.

D'Artagnan moaned and did as he was bid, licking long stripes up Athos' shaft, feeling the skin ripple beneath the touch. He began to stroke with his hand at the same time and as the reddened head of his cock became exposed, d'Artagnan couldn't resist swirling his tongue around it.

Athos swore softly and lifted his hips off the sofa. D'Artagnan grinned to himself and repeated the motion. After the third time, he couldn't resist any longer and opened his mouth around Athos' cock, careful not to take too much this time.

He felt it was much easier to control from this angle and he raised himself up on his knees so he was directly above the hard length. Whatever his unskilled motions were providing were making Athos groan softly with desire so he kept doing it. He moved in a slow motion, leisurely rising and falling on Athos' cock, slowly getting deeper. He felt him nudging at the back of his throat but found it in himself to stop there.

Athos' hand wound into d'Artagnan's black hair and stroked him, even as he tried to keep his groaning quiet. This was entirely unexpected and it made it somehow more meaningful. The freedom they felt with each other's bodies was entirely new to Athos and he could feel the desire in d'Artagnan's every movement.

Athos reached down with his other hand and began to stroke alongside d'Artagnan's mouth. He felt d'Artagnan try and pull away but he stroked the back of his head, gently asking him to stay put.

Another few minutes of this and Athos tried to tug d'Artagnan's head away but this time it was the Gascon who resisted.

“Puppy,” he gasped in warning. “I'm close.”

D'Artagnan swirled his tongue around Athos in response and continued to bob up and down on his length. This simple act, this silent request, was enough to send Athos over the edge and, with both his hands full, he was unable to stop the low moan from his lips as he released into d'Artagnan's mouth.

As soon as the Gascon released him, Athos tugged his hair up and kissed him hard, exploring his mouth with his tongue, eager to taste himself in his lover's mouth.

D'Artagnan moaned against Athos' mouth, knowing what he was doing. His mouth fell open, pliant and welcoming under Athos' ministrations.

They kissed for long, long minutes until a cough in the doorway disturbed them.

D'Artagnan hissed in embarrassment, hiding his face in Athos' chest while the older man simply rolled his eyes.

“Can we help you?” asked Athos, entirely unembarrased while tucking himself away.

“Given up on the watches, then?” Aramis asked, smirking.

“They certainly don't seem as important as they did,” Athos conceded. “May we help you?”

“I was just coming down for a drink of water. Thought I heard something so came to check on you,” Aramis said, shrugging.

“Now you've done so,” Athos said.

Aramis flashed him a wicked grin and disappeared.

“Puppy,” Athos said quietly when Aramis' footfalls had reached the landing.

D'Artagnan hadn't moved from where he was seeking refuge in the fabric of Athos' shirt.

“Puppy,” he repeated, stroking the black hair gently. “He's gone. Are you OK?”

“I'm so sorry,” d'Artagnan blurted.

“Sorry?” Athos said, confused. “For what?”

“You don't like... Never wanted... Being exposed,” d'Artagnan mumbled.

Athos chuckled softly and swung his legs onto the floor to sit up. He pulled d'Artagnan up onto the sofa with him and took his hands.

“They don't count. I wouldn't discuss the size of my cock in front of them if they did,” Athos said gently. “It's not just about being exposed and feeling safe. Some of the things I want to do with you I'll be doing for the first time. Others I'll be doing with love for the first time. It's privacy as well as safety.”

D'Artagnan nodded slowly but still didn't meet Athos' eyes.

“Are you embarrassed?” Athos asked.

D'Artagnan nodded.

“You've heard them have sex, you've seen Porthos knelt at his feet in possibly their most intimate way, seen him reprimanded, you know intimate details about the state of Porthos' orgasm, have heard details of each of their penises and yet one of them seeing **you** please **your** lover embarrasses you?” Athos asked, stifling a laugh.

“That's them,” d'Artagnan hissed.

“Ah... So you think it's fair for them to share details without actually knowing anything of your sex life?” Athos asked, amused.

“Is that unfair?” d'Artagnan mused, looking up at Athos.

“A touch,” Athos said, smirking. “You don't have to share with them, of course. I just think that breaking down that particular barrier would alleviate a lot of your panic regarding their knowledge of our experiences together.”

“Share with them?” d'Artagnan asked hoarsely.

“I said you don't have to,” Athos replied.

“But... you would do that?” d'Artagnan asked, stunned. “Share me?”

“Look at me,” Athos whispered.

It hadn't been what he'd meant at all. He'd actually meant share information but clearly the idea of being physically shared had struck a nerve. He gripped d'Artagnan's hands slightly tighter and met his eyes calmly.

“Listen to me, d'Artagnan. I want you to understand something. I love you, I respect you and I cherish you deeply. You are of such value to me that I cannot speak of it. I do not, however, own you,” he said quietly. His eyes searched d'Artagnan's face. “You are my friend, my brother, my companion and my lover but you are not a belonging for me to share as I might share my mount or my water skin.”

“I only meant... I...” d'Artagnan trailed off, trying to find the words.

“You meant to build on the jokes we have been sharing with Aramis and Porthos late about switching partners?” Athos suggested.

“Yes but... But I also... I don't know,” d'Artagnan said, dropping his gaze again.

“Look at me, d'Artagnan,” Athos said again. “Honesty,” he said when the brown eyes met his own.

“Would it be so bad?” he asked in a small voice.

Athos sucked in a breath, not sure if he'd heard correctly.

“Forget I said anything. I'm sorry,” d'Artagnan said in a rush, trying to stand.

“I will do no such thing,” Athos said, keeping his grip on d'Artagnan's hands and preventing him from rising. “Is that something you would be interested in?”

“I... If it's something just the **three** of you share, I understand,” d'Artagnan said quietly.

Athos considered him for a moment with a smile on his lips until he gave the same reaction Porthos had.

“Have you **met** Aramis?”

 


	79. Chapter 79

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The air is cleared after d'Artagnan and Athos are caught.

After their conversation Athos had insisted on taking d'Artagnan to bed, abandoning any need for watches after such a successful visit to the village. Dawn was just breaking when, sweat soaked and trembling, d'Artagnan had finally been allowed to fall asleep after three earth shattering orgasms with kiss-bruised lips and aching legs.

Athos allowed himself a short nap until he heard the other two stirring and went to join them for breakfast.

“On your own?” Porthos asked, seeing Athos come in.

“You too?” Athos asked, taking a seat at the same table they'd used to question their attackers.

“He's seeing to the horses,” Porthos said, turning back to the water he was boiling.

“Ah,” Athos said, realising nodding would be ineffective.

“You finally letting the boy sleep?” Porthos asked slyly.

Athos didn't reply but did smile to himself as he gazed out the window. It really was beautiful here. He could understand why, after all the politics, the deception and the death that sometimes felt utterly endless, Truyart would seek the serenity of this place. Maybe one day, years from now, he could find the same.

Athos got to his feet and, together with Porthos, they got a big pan of porridge going. He loved d'Artagnan with all his heart and Aramis was undoubtedly just as close a friend as Porthos but the two of them had a tendency to chatter. Working with Porthos often meant working in comfortable silence.

He smiled to himself again when, just as he had the thought, Aramis could be heard whistling on his way back to the house. A sideways glance to Porthos and he could see that private smile Porthos wore when he thought nobody was watching. That was his Aramis smile.

“Seems I owe you a livre Porthos,” Aramis said upon seeing Athos in the kitchen.

“He bet me that based on the noises we heard all night we wouldn't see either of you before noon,” Porthos explained.

Athos smirked and returned to his seat at the table.

“It was not all night,” he said quietly.

Aramis took Athos' place and kissed Porthos sweetly.

“It was definitely for the remainder of the night after I left you,” Aramis pointed out.

“And thus not all night,” Athos said, shrugging.

“Seriously, Athos,” Porthos said, ever the reasonable one. “Have you actually slept at all?”

“I suppose not,” Athos said, distracted.

“Perhaps a nap after you've eaten?” Porthos suggested. Athos nodded his assent.

“He's trying to get out of all this manual labour we're doing,” complained Aramis.

“What is it?” Porthos asked, peering closer at Athos who was distracted.

“D'Artagnan made a suggestion last night,” he said slowly.

“Call our bet square then,” Aramis said, laughing.

Athos frowned and flicked his gaze between the two. Porthos threw the cloth he was holding at Aramis and turned apologetically to Athos.

“He... We made a wager about which one of you two would first suggest that... d'Artagnan joined us in bed,” Porthos admitted.

“Porthos thought d'Artagnan would be too shy to say anything and I thought you'd be too wary of pressuring him,” Aramis said, dropping into a chair at the table and propping his legs up on the table.

Porthos at least had the grace to look apologetic but Aramis just looked smug. Whether it was at the prospect of winning their wager or simply at the prospect of a new bedmate, Athos couldn't be sure.

He watched as Porthos tossed him an apple and Aramis began to cut it into chunks. It was a habit he'd picked up from d'Artagnan and that simple fact made Athos realise d'Artagnan truly was a part of all of them.

“So yes, d'Artagnan touched upon that possibility last night,” Athos said. “However given that it was minutes after you less than subtly announced your presence, I don't know if it was made under duress.”

“Duress?” asked Aramis between apple slices. “What on Earth did you **do** to him?”

Porthos threw another cloth at him and Aramis blew him a kiss in return.

“You know what I mean. If he was too absorbed with lust then he might not have been making the most sensible decisions,” Athos said.

“Then why bring it up to us if you aren't certain he means it?” asked Porthos, moving the pan off the heat and beginning to dish them three bowls.

“I wanted to be sure you wouldn't mind,” Athos answered.

“Of course we don't. He's more than a brother to us, Athos. Just like you,” Porthos said.

“Plus he's rather gorgeous,” Aramis added.

“I agree,” Athos murmured.

 

 

D'Artagnan sat on the stairs outside the kitchen and felt tears springing to his eyes. They really did consider him more than a brother. It wasn't just words or Athos making him feel better. The way Athos spoke about him... Protecting him and yet the easy compliment, the pride in his voice. He swallowed around the lump in his throat and retreated up the stairs a few steps before coming back down, his footsteps deliberately heavy.

  
  


Porthos sent Athos and d'Artagnan back to bed after breakfast, managing to rein Aramis in to only two small comments about hearing them not sleeping. He and Aramis went to tackle the barn clean up with strict instructions from Athos not to lift anything heavier than a dog. Porthos' remark about it depending what size dog they were talking about was met with one of Athos' trademark scathing looks.

Entering the barn they stopped dead and Porthos gave a low whistle.

“I forgot how bad the place was,” he said quietly, leaning the brooms they'd brought against the wall.

“Me too,” Aramis murmured.

“Where do we start?” Porthos said, surveying the mess that lay before them.

“If you start sweeping the biggest chunks of debris out towards the hole in the wall, I'll move upstairs and sweep down the hole,” Aramis suggested.

Porthos nodded and with a deep breath, they each took a broom.

  
  


  
  


They had both stripped off their doublets in deference to the heat and were just getting hungry when their brothers arrived, complete with food and chilled mead.

“I could kiss you both,” Aramis said before taking a long draught of the cold liquid.

Athos and d'Artagnan shared a look that brought colour to d'Artagnan's cheeks and he quickly looked away.

Once they'd eaten, Athos and d'Artagnan joined them in clearing the barn. With the help of their more able bodied friends, they were able to take the heavier items out and were able to clear most of the fallen bricks as well. Athos took great pleasure in using a hammer to smash away the remainder of the wood that still showed Phoebe's blood. Even if Martine did end up ripping all these floorboards out, it was the least they could do by making sure she didn't have to see any more evidence of the young woman's death in her service.

After a few hours, Porthos was sitting down, giving his legs a rest when d'Artagnan flopped down on the grass beside him.

“You OK?” d'Artagnan asked, propping himself up on his elbows to look at Porthos.

“Yep. Just not quite back to normal yet,” Porthos said. “Aramis!” he shouted. “Stop bending!”

Aramis gave him a two fingers salute but kicked the piece of wood he was trying to move instead of bending down.

“It does pain me to stop the man bending over,” Porthos sighed. “He has an excellent rear.”

D'Artagnan laughed loudly and lay himself flat again.

“You OK?” Porthos asked.

“Hot and tired. Having a breather,” d'Artagnan said smiling.

He'd closed his eyes and was basking in the sun, seeming to soak it up. Like Porthos and Aramis he'd taken his doublet off and the sunlight was playing over the skin in the opening of his shirt.

“Yes... Long night,” Porthos said, smirking.

“Oh shut up,” d'Artagnan said, grinning without opening his eyes.

“Either the walls are thinner here, Athos is getting far more adventurous or you're simply forgetting to close your mouth,” Porthos pressed.

“I'm learning to simply enjoy him,” d'Artagnan answered.

“Lucky him,” Porthos said, heaving himself to his feet.

“Well it seems you two got to enjoy last night as well, at least the noise,” d'Artagnan said, propping up onto his elbows again, grinning up at Porthos.

“What joy is the noise without the visual? Being able to smell the food without tasting,” Porthos sighed.

“Are you saying me and Athos are some juicy roast joint that you feel left out by not being allowed to partake?” d'Artagnan teased.

Porthos held his hand out and when d'Artagnan took it, pulled him to his feet with astonishing strength. He pulled d'Artagnan close and, with their faces an inch from one another, murmured softly.

“That's exactly what I'm saying.”

 

 

  
  


“OK, enough,” said Athos sharply.

He looked between Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan who had been glancing furtively at each other all afternoon and evening. The sun had set hours ago and they were relaxing after a light dinner in the sitting room. Athos was sat in one of the armchairs reading while Aramis lay stretched out on the sofa. Porthos was sat on the floor beside Aramis who kept stroking his hair idly and d'Artagnan was sat opposite, playing Porthos at cards again.

They all looked up at him, d'Artagnan twisting around to do so.

“What did Porthos say to you?” he asked. “I know he said something that upset you and I would have you tell me.”

“He didn't upset me,” d'Artagnan said quickly.

“Then what was it?”

“He... unsettled me, maybe?” d'Artagnan said, flicking his gaze back to Porthos.

The smirks on Aramis and Porthos' faces annoyed him and he scowled.

“Tell me,” Athos demanded.

“D'Artagnan suggested that hearing his pleasure through the walls was a cruel taunt to the two of us. Porthos confirmed it was true,” Aramis said bluntly.

“Why a cruel taunt?” asked Athos looking between them all.

“Because as yet we've been unable to enjoy him,” Aramis answered simply.

“He's not your plaything,” Athos said sharply.

“Come now, Athos. You know we mean to imply no such thing,” Aramis said, frowning. “Is it that you wish us to ask your permission?”

“He's not my plaything, either,” Athos snapped.

D'Artagnan sighed.

“I'm your lover, right?” he asked sadly.

“Yes,” replied Athos, frowning.

“Then you should care who I go to bed with or who wants to go to bed with me,” d'Artagnan said.

“I do care,” Athos said, putting his book down.

“Then why so defensive that they're seeking your input?” d'Artagnan asked, turning around.

Athos slid off the sofa to meet him on his knees.

“I don't want... I don't want you to feel pushed into things,” Athos said.

“I won't be,” d'Artagnan assured him.

"I don't want..." Athos trailed off.

D'Artagnan rose up onto his knees and wrapped his arms around Athos' body, pressing his face into his shoulder. He dipped his head to whisper into Athos' ear, far too quiet for the others to hear.

"You are what I'm here for. I love you, not them. They're something for a long way off. You have my heart," he murmured. He could feel Athos' body sag slightly with relief and he gently pulled away, lifting his hands to cradle Athos' face, kissing him gently. He lifted his voice and spoke clearly. “I have no intention of being with any other man until I've had the full range of experience with you. Until I have enjoyed you in every way possible I will not be close to any other man. You have my word.”

Athos smiled and kissed d'Artagnan back, gently cradling the back of his head and deepening the kiss slowly. D'Artagnan's hands fell away from Athos' face and clutched at his hips. They rose up on their knees to press the lengths of their bodies together and d'Artagnan moaned softly.

A hearty round of applause broke the spell and Athos gently pulled away from d'Artagnan, glaring over the man's shoulder to their friends who were sporting identical grins and clapping their hands.

“No wonder they're pleased. They got the visual this time,” d'Artagnan said quietly, reluctantly releasing Athos' hips even as Athos' hands left his hair.

“Indeed,” Athos murmured, retreating back to his chair.

D'Artagnan turned around but shuffled backwards to lean against the chair between Athos' legs.

“Turn about is fair play,” he said, gesturing at their friends.

Aramis grinned wolfishly and d'Artagnan envied the way he seemed to slide off the sofa onto his knees in one boneless movement.

The Gascon watched the way each of their eyes softened for a moment as they got close. Porthos' eyes closed first, his chin tilting up in welcome. Aramis' eyes didn't close until his lips touched Porthos'. Just a feather light touch, barely brushing across them.

Athos' hand settled on d'Artagnan's shoulder squeezing gently. They watched in enraptured silence as Aramis slowly, slowly pressed his lips slightly harder against Porthos'. The slightest flick of his tongue was enough to encourage them to part and Aramis slowly kissed him, their parted lips slanting across each other.

D'Artagnan watched in awe. It seemed Aramis' reputation as a skilled kisser was an earned one and Porthos was giving as good as he got. Their kiss gradually became faster, Porthos' lips moving at the same speed, massaging Aramis' lips as well.

Aramis moaned softly and wound his hands into Porthos' hair, tilting his head back further. Porthos' arm wrapped around Aramis' hips and pulled him closer.

D'Artagnan could see Aramis' pink tongue dancing, now. It passed across Porthos' lips, rubbing against them. He could see Porthos' tongue seeking it out but never daring to be too bold. Aramis seemed to reward this tactic because, after few more passes, he pressed against Porthos' tongue. The big man gave a low groan of approval and his mouth opened wider, granting Aramis access.

For long seconds, where d'Artagnan was fairly certain he forgot to breathe, he watched their tongues massage each other, the pace increasing as they constantly moved back and forth from one man's mouth to the other.

Gradually they began to slow and eventually it returned to the gentle open mouthed kiss of before. A smile turned up both their lips and they gradually came to a stop, returning to the gentlest of brushes across each other lips. Aramis leaned his forehead against Porthos' and they shared a small sigh.

As one singular movement, the two of them turned their heads, without breaking contact and looked expectantly at the slightly breathless Gascon.

“All square, then?” Aramis asked, his black eyes glittering mischievously.

 


	80. Chapter 80

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time at the vineyard continues and among generous visits from the people in the village, an unexpected visitor appears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have so much love for all of you that have stuck with me on this journey that became much longer than expected. I promise we're getting there :)

“Thank you for what you said today,” Athos said quietly.

D'Artagnan stopped, halfway through removing his shirt and looked over at Athos. They had come to bed a few minutes ago but Athos was just stood by the bed looking slightly lost. D'Artagnan walked quickly over to him and examined his face.

“I didn't realise I was... I...” Athos trailed off. He sighed with frustration and looked away.

“Athos?”

“It's fine. Doesn't matter,” Athos muttered, stepping around d'Artagnan and sitting on the bed.

D'Artagnan sighed heavily and tried not to be upset. He'd known something was bothering Athos all day. He'd been more distant than usual over the day. He'd fallen back on his normal proclivity to stay on the edge of the group, not chatting much. The sharp way he'd spoken to them in the sitting room had caught d'Artagnan slightly off guard and he had an inkling what was wrong.

“You thought I had forgotten about you?” d'Artagnan asked gently.

“No,” Athos said quickly.

D'Artagnan saw the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, though, and sat beside him, his hand resting on Athos' knee.

“Athos,” he said gently. “Honesty.”

“They are... more fun than I am. You... deserve that,” Athos said, looking away.

“I deserve the man I love,” d'Artagnan replied shrugging slightly. “That's you.”

At this Athos looked up, a small smile on his lips. D'Artagnan took this as an invitation and leaned in to kiss him gently. When he let go he searched Athos' face. Something was still troubling him.

"Athos," he prompted.

“I hate that I doubted it,” Athos said in a rush.

“Athos, love. This isn't just going to be new for me but for you as well,” d'Artagnan answered quietly, squeezing the man's knee. “You've been so used to your time with them being... I don't know how to say it politely.”

“Just say it,” Athos said, still staring at his hands.

“You've always just lifted in and out of their relationship. Whatever happened in their bedroom stayed in their bedroom. You've never had the same emotional investment with them as you have with me. This would be different,” d'Artagnan explained, his tone apologetic.

“You won't lift out of their relationship so easily?”

“No, you idiot,” d'Artagnan said, exasperated.

“You care for them more than... more than I do,” Athos said.

D'Artagnan stood and began to pace in frustration. He didn't have to be a mind reader to guess what Athos had been about to say. They were all tired and while d'Artagnan could feel his patience wearing thin, it was clearly having a destructive effect on Athos' self confidence. He closed his eyes and sucked in a long breath. He gently released it and opened his eyes to find Athos watching him, a heartbreaking expression on his face.

“I did not mean that I will not lift out of their relationship like you do,” d'Artagnan said slowly. “I meant that we will be going in as a unit. As a permanent pair. It will be **both** of us lifting out because, and listen to me when I say this, we do **not** lift out from one another.”

Athos stared at d'Artagnan in silence for a few long seconds before nodding slowly. When d'Artagnan immediately sat beside him again, he couldn't stop himself gripping the younger man's knee, reassuring himself.

“I'm sorry,” Athos whispered.

“What for?” d'Artagnan asked, covering Athos' hands with his own. He gently pried Athos' fingers away from where they were digging into his thigh and twined them with his own fingers instead.

“That I'm not good at this,” Athos said. Despite the vague answer, d'Artagnan understood.

“It takes time building a relationship and I don't intend to rush it,” he said before lifting their clasped hands and kissing the back of Athos'. “Anything that I do with them will always be with you. What I was going to say is that you and I love each other so if we do spend time with them, we'll have each other to look out for.”

“Ah,” Athos said, looking away.

“Something else?”

“You want us to... be us,” Athos mumbled.

“I do,” d'Artagnan said, smiling. “You are my lover, Athos. Not them. I may be thoroughly enjoying flirting with them and even be looking forwards to the four of us rolling around in bed together but you, Athos, are my lover. You **the one** I want these new experiences with. It is **you** I wish to lay with.”

Athos gave d'Artagnan a weak smile and the Gascon knew he'd hit the nail on the head.

“You thought I was distracted by the new shiny prospects of other dicks?” d'Artagnan teased.

Athos gave a surprised bark of laughter and shook his head.

“Athos. Look at me,” d'Artagnan said softly. When Athos did so, he continued speaking. “If it takes you and I years to be in a place where we're ready, as a couple, to join with them so be it.”

“You'd be willing to wait years?” asked Athos.

“I _look forwards_ to years of enjoying your body with no distractions,” d'Artagnan corrected with a smirk.

“I love you,” blurted Athos.

“I love you too,” d'Artagnan replied softly.

“That wasn't supposed to be quite so blunt,” Athos said, smiling slightly.

“I don't care how you say it,” d'Artagnan said, grinning.

“I love you,” Athos repeated.

“I love you,” d'Artagnan echoed easily.

“That bit is so easy,” Athos whispered.

“What bit?”

“Loving you. It's so easy to love you. It's become so easy to tell you I love you. Why is it hard to... trust?”

“To trust me or to trust 'us'?”

“Us. Definitely us. I trust you with my life, d'Artagnan. My life and my heart,” Athos said earnestly.

“Then give it time,” d'Artagnan said, pressing a kiss into Athos' hair.

  
  


  
  


Another week passed at the vineyard without further comment about sexual sharing. They found themselves far too busy during the days and too tired each night. Men from the village and surrounding farms had come when they found out what the Musketeers were doing and two had brought ploughs from their own farms to assist in turning the land, a task the Musketeers thought was beyond their limited time at the farm.

Towards the end of their second week, D'Artagnan and Athos were on their way back from the market with some fresh meat and bread when d'Artagnan stopped on the crest of a hill. Athos stopped beside him and looked at him in concern.

“This is the same hill top, Athos,” he said quietly.

Athos looked around and realised d'Artagnan was right. This was where they had stopped, expecting to find the path to Truyart's home, and found his fields blackened. He remembered how tense and unhappy everyone had been that day, still running on pure fury from Truyart's death, full of vengeance.

He followed d'Artagnan's gaze over the fields. With the men's help, they had all but one of the eight fields cleared and two had been freshly turned, all signs of fire obliterated.

“We leave the day after tomorrow,” d'Artagnan said quietly.

“We do,” Athos confirmed, turning his eyes back to d'Artagnan.

“Look at the difference we've made,” he said, his voice still quiet.

Athos smiled and looked out over the fields again. Where blackened remains had stood on their last visit, there was a hive of activity. He could just make out five figures clearing the last field and a plough working another.

“This is why I should be a Musketeer,” d'Artagnan said fiercely before kicking his horse into a light trot.

Athos spurred his horse to follow and couldn't help silently agreeing.

  
  


  
  


  
  


The following night they were debating when to leave. Athos was of the opinion they should get going at daybreak but Aramis and d'Artagnan argued that Captain Tréville said they should stay for two weeks, meaning they should leave at daybreak the day after, spending tomorrow, their fourteenth day, working the fields.

Athos looked at Porthos for help.

“Well... The carpenter should be here tomorrow to look at the door,” he said slowly.

Athos groaned in defeat.

  
  


  
  


 

It was as Porthos had said. The carpenter came just after dawn while d'Artagnan was seeing to the horses and Porthos was, again, making breakfast.

He promised to be back before dusk with some wood that would temporarily secure the house but said he couldn't afford to repair the doors entirely without payment. Athos nodded his agreement and the man disappeared. The village's generosity was further demonstrated when twenty empty barrels appeared on the back of a wagon at midday.

Late in the afternoon, Athos was smoothing the earth down where they'd buried the men while D'Artagnan was trying to remember how to make trellises and getting very annoyed in the kitchen. Porthos and Aramis were giving the cellar floor another wash, insisting it could be improved.

When more hooves and wheels were heard a couple of hours before sunset, Athos walked slowly round, assuming it was the carpenter. The sight that greeted him was a different one, indeed.

He leaned sideways slightly through the door so his voice would echo around the house.

“Musketeers!” he shouted.

In less than a minute, his brothers had joined him and smiles lit their faces.

They stepped into the sunlight and lined up on the doorstep as Captain Tréville trotted down the drive towards them, followed by a small litter.

 

“Athos. Gentlemen,” Tréville said, nodding down at them.

“Captain,” they chorused.

He gave them a warm smile and dismounted, holding the reins out. It was Porthos who stepped forwards and took them, disappearing around the house to the stables.

The litter slowly rumbled to a stop and the two attendants came to the door, helping Madame Truyart down.

She approached them slowly, tears in her eyes.

“I did not believe Captain Tréville until I saw the house. I saw fields rolling by the window but could scarcely believe they were ours. Thank you,” she said earnestly. She stepped forwards and offered her hand to Aramis who bowed and kissed it. “You saved Denis' life all those years ago and now you've brought me to back to mine,” she breathed.

“It was not my doing, my lady,” Aramis said. He straightened up and passed her hand to d'Artagnan. “This is d'Artagnan. It is him we have been following these past days.”

“My sincerest thanks, Monsieur d'Artagnan,” she said, curtsying slightly.

“We have done what we could,” he said, slightly embarrassed.

“Please,” she said. “Show me.”

  
  


  
  


So it was the five men from the Musketeers and Madame Truyart settled for dinner but this time it was in her own kitchen and she proved to be quite the accomplished cook. D'Artagnan had thoroughly enjoyed giving her a run down of their accomplishments and she'd insisted on visiting the barn and the pavilion. She'd laid her own posy of flowers on Phoebe's grave and Tréville, who had accompanied them, took her hand as they spent a few moments of silence there.

When they returned to the house it was to find the carpenter fixing the temporary doors.

“I'm sorry I couldn't find anything more permanent, Madame,” he said, bowing.

“It's OK, Alexis,” she said quietly. “Will they hold?”

“Not against anything determined but they'll keep animals and the more lazy thieves out,” he said, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

“When can you have some permanent doors fitted?” Tréville asked quietly.

“Another week but... I cannot afford... I need paying upfront,” he said, blushing slightly.

“The regiment will cover it,” Tréville said.

“Captain!” Martine gasped. “I couldn't ask that.”

“We're doing it for Denis. Making his home secure again,” Tréville said firmly, without looking at her.

With the matter settled Alexis, the carpenter, started making more measurements and going over designs for the doors with Madame Truyart.

Tréville took his men aside.

“I am returning to Lyons in the morning. The investigation goes well. It has been reported to Captain Colier that Bauffremont has fallen in to debt again by two people unaware of our ruse. This bodes well as I'm sure it will get back to her. I'm content to leave Martine here and I will ask you four to leave tomorrow morning as well,” he said.

Athos nodded.

“That was our plan,” he said.

“Good. How are you two faring?” he asked, turning to Aramis and Porthos. “You certainly seem to be moving better, Porthos.”

“I'm very well,” he answered immediately. I still can't kneel and put direct weight on my knees but I can sit for as long as I like and I tried trotting on my horse yesterday and could do it without too much pain.”

Tréville nodded.

“I'm to take that meaning you'd like to speed up on the way home?”

“Yes Captain,” Porthos said, nodding.

“OK but only for short periods and only if it continues not to hurt,” Tréville said, frowning. “You?” he asked, turning to Aramis.

“I'm still healing but slower than Porthos,” he answered, honestly. “I still can't lift anything and I get worn out.”

“After how long?” Tréville asked sharply.

“Oh less and less each day, Captain. I think part of it might be simply that I'm out of practice of this kind of labour. I've been more or less inactive since collecting Porthos.”

Tréville nodded and turned his attention to Athos.

“Keep an eye of them both. Don't let them push themselves too hard,” he said.

Athos nodded.

“And you,” Tréville said, turning his cool eyes on d'Artagnan.

The younger Gascon felt his breath catch in his throat. Was he about to be told off by Tréville like he had been by Athos on the way here?

“I'm proud of you, son,” he said, clapping d'Artagnan on the shoulder. “You've done good work here. Above and beyond what you had to. You've served the regiment well. Good work.”

D'Artagnan was too surprised to say anything and just nodded dumbly at the Captain.

“Get some rest all of you. I expect you to be dressed and exercised before dawn has finished breaking,” Tréville said, nodding at the stairs.

Despite it being no later than eight in the evening, they all trailed up the stairs to bed without argument. The intensely physical work had taken its toll on all of them and the idea of a long night's rest was welcome. The only man who didn't feel instantly sleepy was d'Artagnan.

“Puppy?” Athos murmured.

He was stretched out on his back, eyes already closed but he could feel the tension in d'Artagnan's body as he lay with his head on Athos' chest.

“What did the Captain mean?” he asked.

“When?”

“When he said he was proud of me?”

“The same thing I mean,” Athos said, stifling a yawn.

“But you say it because... To encourage me,” d'Artagnan said frowning.

Athos raised his arm to prop his head up slightly and looked at d'Artagnan.

“You think I say it as a carrot?”

“I don't understand,” d'Artagnan, tilting his head up to meet Athos' eyes.

“There's two main ways to get a mule to pull your cart. Encourage him to go faster with a carrot or punish him for going slowly with a stick. Giving him something to run from or towards, essentially,” Athos explained. “You believe I tell you I'm proud of you as a falsehood just to try and make you strive for it in the future?”

“Not a... I don't think you're lying,” d'Artagnan said slowly.

“You think I exaggerate? That I say I'm proud but what I actually mean is that I'm pleased with whatever you just did?”

“Yes,” d'Artagnan said, timidly.

“No,” Athos said. “I say I'm proud of you because when I see the man you're becoming and I think that I may have had some small part in it guiding it, I am immensely proud.”

D'Artagnan blushed and buried his face into Athos' chest.

“Look at what you can do, d'Artagnan. Just here in these last couple of weeks. Look at the difference you've had to me. I don't think I exaggerate when I say I'm a hard man to make changes to. The difference you've made to our friends, keeping their spirits up when they were close to death. The way Tréville trusted you to take you alone with him to see the Marquis,” Athos said fiercely. “You got Agnes' baby out alive. Aramis trusted you with Marsac. These are not easy things we do or could be done by lesser men.”

D'Artagnan's smile grew with every example and he lay his head back down on Athos' chest.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“Of course,” Athos said, unfolding his arm and relaxing again. “We believe in you and think you're remarkable. Trust our judgement, hm?”

D'Artagnan smile and nestled closer to him.

 


	81. Chapter 81

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The four men finally begin to head home.

Tréville had seen them off with the same dire warnings he'd given them when they left Lyons. The morning had dawned grey and overcast, leaving them a relatively cool morning to ride in. They were pleasantly full as Madame Truyart had insisted on getting up and making them breakfast before they left. It was, therefore, with full bellies and light hearts they set out for home.

It had only taken them four days to get here but that was at a very hard pace and across country. With their slower pace, it was likely to take six or seven.

“Hear that, Porthos?” Aramis called over his shoulder when Athos shared his prediction. “Seven days.”

“Good to know,” Porthos replied, grinning.

Athos and Aramis were riding side by side with Porthos and d'Artagnan following. D'Artagnan leaned over to Porthos.

“Doesn't it drive you mad?” he asked.

Porthos chuckled.

“One of its unintended side effects is to make me far more aware of what would make **him** happy at any given time rather than myself,” Porthos said, smiling fondly at the form Aramis in front.

“Oh,” d'Artagnan said, frowning.

“What?”

“I hadn't thought of it like that. I guess I just saw it as... well fun,” d'Artagnan said.

“Oh it is. I said unintended side effect because it was never put in place to be some deep and meaningful thing. The fact is that any measure of control 'e chooses to exert on makes me feel... always ends up having a deeper effect,” Porthos explained, shrugging.

“Makes you think of him constantly, you mean?” d'Artagnan asked.

“Yeah, I guess,” he said, smiling.

“Are you talking about me?” Aramis called back to them.

“Of course,” Porthos answered at the same time d'Artagnan said “No!”

“Which one do you believe?” Aramis asked Athos.

“Since it was you that asked, I think we can believe Porthos,” Athos replied, drily.

Aramis chuckled and twisted himself side to side. He winced slightly and then sighed in irritation.

“Still hurting?”

“Yes but only when I test them. They don't constantly throb any more,” Aramis answered.

“I'm glad,” Athos said. “I was very worried, you know.”

“No more than I,” Aramis said. “If I am to die I would have it from a sudden, unexpected blow from a pistol, a sword, a dagger, anything but that kind of slow march towards an end, Athos.”

“Don't be so quick to throw your life away. One would say a death old and fat, surrounded by grandchildren with plenty of time together would be most men's ideal,” Athos countered.

“As a Musketeer I don't think that is my fate, friend. Any of our fates,” Aramis said. “Would that it could be, though.”

Athos didn't reply, just nodded in agreement.

“So I know what Porthos is looking forwards to so much about being back in Paris,” Aramis said, his tone lightening. “What has our young Gascon so excited? These certain steps you've so far refrained from taking?”

“We have not... Hm,” Athos said, struggling to put it delicately.

“You have not yet taken his maidenhood?” Aramis asked, brightly.

“Quite,” Athos said.

“You have yet to consummate the union?”

“Indeed.”

“He can still wear white on his wedding day?”

“Aramis,” Athos said, warningly.

The marksman grinned and Athos couldn't stop the small smile that ruined the glare he was trying to give Aramis under the brim of his hat.

“Can I ask why the wait?”

“Just wanted to be in my own home. One less thing to worry about, as it were,” Athos said quietly.

“ **Are** you worried?” Aramis asked, no trace of judgement in his tone.

“I was. I'm not now,” Athos said. “I've done enough homework on the man to feel prepared and the two of you have certainly given me an education.”

Aramis laughed, the sound high and clear.

“I'm glad we could be of service,” he said, still chuckling.

Athos inclined his head, the small smile back on his face.

“Do you think d'Artagnan meant it?” Aramis asked.

“What?”

“Being together with us,” Aramis prompted.

“I don't know. Not for a while. The wait would probably be a good thing. I'd hate to think he was doing it out of jealousy and trying to... even the score between him and I,” Athos said slowly.

“That's one of my concerns as well,” Aramis mused.

“One of?”

“The other is... curiosity,” he said.

“You think he's simply trying to see what all the fuss is about?” Athos teased.

“Well partly. I mean _am_ quite outstanding,” Aramis said, grinning. His face softened and he frowned at the countryside beside the road. “Part of me is concerned he's just curious about seeing Porthos that way,” Aramis admitted.

“I don't think that's it,” Athos said at once.

“Nor do I, really,” Aramis said. “I have to protect him, though. If he wants to get to Porthos that way, he needs to be doing it for the right reasons. Genuinely wanting to be close to us.”

“I'll make sure. I don't want him to open himself up that way to anyone for the wrong reasons, either,” Athos mused.

“That sounds pointed,” Aramis said, frowning.

“Not really,” Athos said slowly. “Just... Apparently he met a woman the first night he was in Paris.”

“I remember. Unfinished business, he called it,” Aramis said.

“Yes. He seems to have forgotten all about her now but I think he might have sort of thrown himself at her in desperation while grieving,” Athos said.

“Ah. And you fear he might come to us with similar unsafe motivations?” Aramis guessed.

“It's something I'll be looking out for, certainly,” Athos said.

  
  


  
  


  
  


 

As they were camping closer to the road, they continued to set watches but no longer restricted them to just Athos and d'Artagnan, meaning each man got much more sleep. They were also more conscious about sleeping in positions too intimate but Porthos and Aramis still slept with their fingertips touching.

After two days, they had another two to get to Chaumont, where Athos intended for them to stop for the night in one of the inns. Another two days from there they would reach Troyes but had no intention of staying in the town. Athos estimated three days from Troyes to Paris but Porthos and Aramis were growing stronger each day, the former especially. He knew that even his own desire to get home would push them beyond an entire day at walking pace.

With a great deal of pleading and cajoling, d'Artagnan had finally managed to get Athos to resume doing the routine of exercises Tréville mandated for the regiment. While he didn't utter a word of protest, he did level some quite malevolent glares in the Gascon's direction.

As they rode into Chaumont it began to rain and they were all grateful they'd be spending a night inside. Only one room was available but it did have a spacious bed, large enough for three of them. It went without saying that Porthos and Aramis would not be permitted to sleep on the floor. D'Artagnan immediately tried to lay out his belongings on the straw mattress provided but found himself yanked backwards by the waistband of his breeches.

“Wha- Get off!” he cried, laughing as he tumbled backwards onto the bed between Athos and Aramis who were sitting upon it.

“It seems to me you are constantly trying to make yourself less visible, less important, somehow,” Aramis said.

“That will stop,” Athos said quietly, pressing a hand onto d'Artagnan's chest, keeping him laying down between them.

“So you have to share with us,” Porthos said, his grinning face coming into view as he looked down on d'Artagnan.

“Are you going to be naked?” he asked, squinting up at him.

Porthos laughed, ruffled his hair and the others allowed him to sit up.

“That particular rule is for our home,” Aramis said gently.

“But Athos...”

“Is hot enough to keep himself company for once. I swear if we find ourselves in this position again, we can rotate the honours,” Aramis said firmly.

D'Artagnan grabbed Athos by the wrist as he started to rise.

“The decision is made,” Athos said.

“I know... A kiss goodnight?” he asked, shyly.

Athos smiled and leaned down, cradling d'Artagnan's face in his hands and kissed him sweetly. There was such tenderness it could almost be called chaste, if not for the parting of their lips and the soft, pleased sigh from d'Artagnan when Athos finally pulled away.

“Do I get a kiss too?” Aramis asked from where he was still sat beside d'Artagnan.

Athos leaned over and kissed Aramis on the cheek. He smiled at the huff this caused.

“You tease,” he sighed but Athos only shrugged, stepping away.

“You slut,” Porthos observed from where he was removing his boots, watching the whole scene.

“Ah, mi vida. Must you use that word? Leave me and my secrets open to the world?” Aramis sighed dramatically.

Porthos laughed and leaned over towards him. Ever the showman, Aramis rested his weight on his hands behind him and dramatically tipped his head back. Still chuckling, Porthos kissed him, their faces upside down to one another.

“Mmm, you're very handsome. Has anyone ever told you that?” Aramis murmured.

“You should meet my owner. He's bloody gorgeous,” Porthos said. He gave Aramis another light kiss and drew away, standing back up.

Aramis sighed dramatically at the loss and sat up, tossing his black hair around his shoulder. He turned to look at d'Artagnan and raised his eyebrows suggestively.

“If kissing is the order of the day,” he said in a low voice.

D'Artagnan mirrored Athos' action, kissing the marksman on the cheek. He then blushed beautifully as if he'd acted on impulse and wasn't sure how welcome the gesture would have been.

Aramis wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug. He pressed a kiss into d'Artagnan's hair before releasing him.

“You are both teases,” he complained before he, too, stood up and walked round to Porthos, undoing his coat as he walked.

“How are we....” d'Artagnan began, gesturing awkwardly at the bed.

“Porthos will sleep in the middle. Try not to knock his knees,” Aramis said, smiling.

Porthos was already stripped to just his braies and his shirt and moving into the centre of the bed. D'Artagnan awkwardly shuffled onto the bed beside him, laying flat on his back. Aramis and Athos exchanged a look, the latter rolling his eyes and striding back over.

As if handling a small child, Athos rearranged d'Artagnan, turning him onto his side, his natural sleeping position. While he didn't go as far as pushing him towards Porthos, the message was clear.

Aramis grinned and settled himself into bed on Porthos' other side. He immediately got as close as he could, moulding himself to Porthos' body, hooking their ankles together. He smiled across Porthos' chest at d'Artagnan who was blushing slightly at Athos having to manhandle him in quite that fashion.

Athos threw the large sheet over them all and returned to the mattress in the corner, smiling to himself at d'Artagnan realising he had less and less reason to be so shy and reserved around their friends.

  
  


 

Somewhere in the middle of the night, Athos woke with a start. It was to find the shirtless form of d'Artagnan, wriggling his way into his arms.

“Puppy,” he sighed, slightly exasperated. “Go back to bed.”

“Can't sleep with you so close but so far,” d'Artagnan complained, his voice full of sleep.

Athos smiled and didn't argue. He simply relaxed his arms and when the Gascon had finally stopped moving, tightened them again, pulling the slim body close.

That was how Porthos and Aramis found them when they woke the next morning, tightly wrapped around each other upon the straw mattress.

 


	82. Chapter 82

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very small interlude. The final two chapters of this work will be each of our couples finally getting home... to bed.

It was less than the two days Athos had predicted before they reached Troyes, Porthos having coped incredibly well with the trotting. It was, in fact, Aramis who had requested a reduction in pace to ease the jolting of his ribs.

“You alright?” Porthos asked as they stopped their horses outside the inn. Athos had gone in to make arrangements for Truyart's body to be taken to the vineyard. This was something they'd agreed with the Captain before leaving him. He should be with his wife.

“I am,” Aramis said, honestly. “I'm just being more honest now.”

“You sure?” Porthos asked, peering closely.

“I am, Porthos. While I was going to be stopped from doing anything I had a reason to hide my injuries. Now that I'm on the move, I see no reason to stop myself being truthful about the pain I'm in,” Aramis explained.

“I'm gonna try sleeping on my side tonight,” Porthos said, satisfied with Aramis' answer. “Not my left but my right is back to normal so I might try that.”

“That'd be nice for you,” Aramis said, smiling.

What Aramis meant was how nice it would be to sleep in Porthos' arms. It was the way they always slept when they had a choice and it had been so very long they both missed it terribly. Porthos' answering smile answered all the words Aramis didn't say.

Athos and d'Artagnan came out to join them, a grim look on Athos' face but a satisfied smirk on d'Artagnan's.

“How goes it?” Aramis asked.

“They're willing to move him if we provide for transportation,” Athos reported, mounting his horse. “I've told him we'll arrange it as soon as we get back to Paris.”

“We also told him that Captain Tréville would be coming through this way in the next couple of weeks and would also be checking to see if he'd been sent home,” d'Artagnan said cheerfully.

Aramis and Porthos chuckled. D'Artagnan and his temper seemed quite the effective weapon to intimidate people who weren't co-operating.

Once d'Artagnan had mounted up, the four of them trotted out of the town, Athos leading the way. As it was only midday, he encouraged them on to the same spot they'd camped on the way down, roughly twenty miles West of the town.

Aramis and Porthos saw to the horses while Athos started a fire. D'Artagnan joined him after a short while with a bowl of water and his razor.

“You take more time clearing your face of hair than Aramis does tending his,” Athos said, amused.

“Well not all of us have the standing that enables us to get away with being quite so untidy,” d'Artagnan said, looking sideways at Athos.

“I'll shave when I get home,” the Musketeers said, dismissively.

“You'll at least tidy it up when you get home,” amended d'Artagnan.

“Indeed,” Athos said, poking at the fire, hiding his smirk.

  
  


  
  


 

When Athos was on watch later that night, d'Artagnan had curled up at his side, being the one from whom Athos had taken over. Athos caught himself stroking the man's arm as he slept and stopped.

“Don't stop,” d'Artagnan mumbled.

“I'm keeping you awake,” Athos argued softly.

“I like it,” d'Artagnan argued, sighing.

Athos smiled and resumed, watching d'Artagnan. It was only a few minutes before the Gascon fell asleep and this time Athos just kept stroking him, watching the man sleep.

He tried hard to think of the first time they'd come to Troyes, all those weeks ago. It was all quiet flirting, hesitant touches. D'Artagnan had been so nervous about saying what he wanted, they'd both been afraid of touching each other. It had been the beginning of a merely hinted at relationship and now they were firmly lovers.

Some of his old fears about learning to live in a relationship with each other began to manifest but Athos forced himself to take deep breaths. It was different. It wouldn't be like Anne. D'Artagnan had just as much to lose. He knew d'Artagnan. Knew his past. D'Artagnan knew his, too. Honesty. Trust. They had everything he hadn't had with Anne.

There was still Constance. What ever was going to happen there would happen. It was an unanswered question. He didn't want to keep the Gascon from anything but at the same time Athos had his own issues d'Artagnan was trying accommodate. Aramis' advice not to ignore the topic of his need for them was still ringing in his ears but was any relationship truly neat and tidy? Maybe when you're children entering into an arranged match things were tidier but then they often lacked love. Athos would take love over tidiness.

His eyes roamed across the clearing, landing on his sleeping brothers. Porthos was still on his back, having found sleeping even on his good leg put pressure on the bad one.

They had love. They had tidiness. Their relationship was simple. Theirs was perfect. They loved each other as easy as they breathed and even with the added complication of their power dynamic they still managed to navigate disputes easily. It was one relationship in a million that was so simple.

Athos had to stop himself laughing out loud at the thought.

Simple. If you discounted the fact that there was a bag under their bed for them to flee the city if anyone found out. They would both hang for their simple, loving relationship if it became public knowledge. Years before they'd admitted they had a backup plan. Athos knew the bag held enough clothes to disguise them. Also wrapped up under there were two complete sets of weaponry including swords, belts, daggers and pistols. After being shown it, Athos had even found them different powder containers should theirs be recognised.

He sighed deeply. He was sworn to uphold the law and deliver justice. As he watched them, Porthos began snoring and a small movement from Aramis silenced him. He glanced down at d'Artagnan, who had moved to nuzzle his face against Athos' leg. Was he always fighting on the right side?

 


	83. Chapter 83

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The four men finally arrive back in Paris and make their way home.

The three of them finally arrived in Paris three days later, all four unable to stop themselves cantering loudly through the streets to the garrison, Athos included.

“Well if you four aren't a sight for some bloody sore eyes,” Serge said, seeing them arrive in a cloud of dust.

“Thanks Serge,” Aramis said, hopping off his horse, arquebus in hand.

“Not you. Them,” Serge said, jabbing his spoon at Aramis' horse.

Jaques came rushing out of the stables to take the animals from them. Florian, too, came to help.

"You aren't pleased to see us as well?" Aramis teased, twisting and stretching.

"More people. More mouths. More work," Serge muttered, shuffling past him.

“Nothing like a cheerful welcome, is there?” Aramis asked, turning to look up at Porthos who was still dismounting.

“If old Serge had been too welcoming I would have wondered what happened to him while we were away,” Porthos said, shrugging.

“Less of the old you,” Serge snapped, his spoon pointing at Porthos this time. “Where's the Captain?”

“He'll be away for a while longer," Athos answered, sliding smoothly from the saddle. "I believe the Cardinal is fully aware and has informed the King. He tells me Brujon is in command while he is away,” Athos said, eyes roaming restlessly across the yard.

This was home. The smell of horses, gunpowder, straw, men, sweat. This was his home and it was **so** good to be back.

“Very good Sir,” Serge said, hobbling over to help with their bags.

It took a much longer time than expected but eventually the four of them were saying their goodbyes at the garrison gate. It was mid afternoon by the time they finally separated. Porthos and Aramis veritably jogged away from the yard, their bags slung over their shoulders as they made their ways home. Athos was watching them go but felt d'Artagnan's eyes on him. Turning his head slightly, he saw the Gascon smiling shyly at him.

“Why don't you go home, take a bath, relax and come and visit me after the sun has set,” Athos suggested, seeing the boy positively thrumming with tension.

D'Artagnan's face fell and Athos stepped closer, conscious of the many eyes in Paris.

“If this is going to be good for us both, I wish for us to be relaxed, not coated in three weeks of travel,” he said quietly. "Let us take some time to unwind, to unpack. After that we can spend the night together, knowing everything is settled."

D'Artagnan took a deep breath and smiled warmly, nodding. He turned left to go back to the Bonacieux house while Athos watched him go. The Musketeer smiled when d'Artagnan couldn't resist throwing a smile back over his shoulder at Athos. Shaking his head affectionately, Athos finally turned for home.

  
  


 

  
  


Porthos and Aramis had no such patience. Their door was not fully closed before their bags hit the floor and their mouths collided. Within seconds Porthos had forced Aramis to the floor on his back, kicking the door closed with his foot.

“Your knees!” Aramis cried.

“Don't fucking care,” Porthos growled but he did roll them over until he was on his back.

Aramis' legs slotted easily between Porthos' thighs, parting them and pressing his knee into his lover's groin. His head dipped, biting harshly into Porthos' neck, earning another growl from the bigger man.

“Mine,” Aramis hissed, nuzzling his way up to Porthos' ear, his tongue flicking across it.

“Aramis,” Porthos growled, his hands clawing at the marksman's back.

“Right. Clothes off,” Aramis panted, pulling himself back to his feet.

Porthos didn't bother standing up at first, simply undoing his belts where he lay and leaving them on the floor. He did the same with his doublet, kicking his boots off at the same time. Aramis was being far more methodical, removing each item one by one but still dropping them on the floor beside Porthos. When the big man finally did get himself to his feet, he was down to just his breeches, hose and shirt, the latter of which got thrown to the floor in short order.

Aramis was still making his way down his coat, unbuttoning as he went, but found his attention caught by the sight of Porthos shirtless. He stepped closer and began running his hands over the muscled chest while Porthos took over getting his coat undone. It was a matter of minutes before Porthos had successfully removed Aramis' coat and shirt, leaving him clad in just his breeches and boots. He roughly yanked Aramis towards him by the hair and claimed his mouth in an aggressive, almost violent kiss.

Aramis moaned appreciatively into his lover's mouth but quickly his hands came up to bury themselves in Porthos' dark curls and he easily took control of the kiss. He used his grip to tilt Porthos' head slightly, pulling him to the side and very slightly back.

The former criminal growled at the motion but made no move to fight, simply kissing Aramis back as much as he could. His hands were restless on the marksman's back, roaming across the pale skin and feeling the muscles ripple underneath.

“Bedroom,” Aramis rasped against Porthos' mouth.

His lover nodded and began walking blindly backwards, unwilling to let go of the marksman's body for an instant. Aramis laughed slightly and moved with him, taking care not to stand on Porthos' unshod feet.

Thankfully all the furniture was still piled against the walls from their last day here so they had a clear run until they fell through their bedroom door and Porthos hit the bed. Together they fell, Porthos on the bottom with their arms still firmly wrapped around each other.

“This is an improvement over the floor,” Aramis murmured.

“Not yet,” Porthos growled.

Aramis laughed and dragged himself off Porthos to stand by the bed. Porthos followed him to a sitting position and while Aramis was removing his boots, Porthos started work on the laces of Aramis' breeches.

While Aramis was still drawing the second of his long boots off his foot, Porthos' broad tongue had begun to lick long stripes over Aramis' member, already hard from the combination of anticipation and this fast and furious kissing since they'd got in the door.

A long, low moan sounded Aramis' approval and once he had his feet flat on the floor, he took Porthos' hair in his hands again and thrust smoothly into his mouth.

“Oh Porthos,” he moaned. “So good to be home.”

His lover only gave a muffled grunt of agreement, his tongue far too busy pressing against the underside of Aramis' cock, seeking out the places that made the man moan the most.

They hadn't been intimate on the way home bar a few messy fumbles and with the anticipation, even Aramis was wound tight as a bow. His grip increased in Porthos' hair and he began to thrust regularly into Porthos' mouth. Less and less smooth his movements became until he was simply fucking violently into Porthos' mouth, breaching his throat each time. The noise Porthos made glorious. The soft sucking sound of his throat opening for Aramis' cock was hot enough but the way Porthos moaned greedily was pure music to Aramis' ears.

It took almost a superhuman effort of will to stop, roughly pulling Porthos' mouth off of himself. The sight he made, mouth still hanging open slightly, saliva coating his chin, a short line of spit still hanging from his mouth, was almost as good as the noise. Dropping to his knees, Aramis kissed Porthos deeply, his own moan swallowing the groan of disappointment.

“You are going to spend without a touch to you, my boy,” Aramis purred. “And you will do it with my cock buried in your body.”

“Yes Sire,” Porthos panted. “I don't... I might struggle to... to last,” he admitted in a pleading voice.

“The joys of being at home,” Aramis murmured. “We can take as long as we need.”

Porthos nodded gratefully and stood. They slowly removed their breeches and braies in silence, their earlier urgency gone. Realising they were truly home, safe and together, calmed them both and they smiled softly at one another.

“Lay down, then,” Aramis said one they were both nude, pressing a soft kiss to Porthos' lips.

Porthos, of course, obeyed and settled on his back in the centre of their bed. Aramis raked his eyes over his lover's body, hungrily taking in the sight of the muscled flesh, the darkened skin, lingering shamelessly on his hard cock, already weeping with arousal.

“Feet flat on the bed, knees apart,” Aramis murmured, unable to resist stroking himself as he watched Porthos follow his instructions, baring himself entirely to Aramis' hungry gaze. He moved between Porthos' legs, oil in hand, settling on his knees and didn't waste time stroking Porthos' entrance with his index finger. Porthos jumped a mile but Aramis just kept his touch gentle, stroking lightly.

“Sire,” Porthos said, through gritted teeth. “I don't think I can-”

“You can and you will,” Aramis said gently, cutting Porthos' protests off. “We will go as slow as you need but you have my instructions.”

“Yes Sire,” Porthos said, panting slightly.

He felt ready to combust and he knew that going through the motions of Aramis preparing him were going to constantly bring him closer and closer to that edge. He closed his eyes and focused on the feel of Aramis' finger, still stroking gently across his entrance. It was light enough that he could focus on the tickling nature rather than the pleasure and gradually, gradually he felt himself backing away from the edge.

“That's it. Good boy,” Aramis purred.

With every light pass of Aramis' finger, Porthos could feel his muscles relaxing under the familiar feeling, eager to let Aramis in. When he finally did, it was bliss. He wasn't sure he could even remember the last time Aramis had entered him. It might have even been before they left Paris, he wasn't sure. All he knew was that every fibre of his being was crying out for this man.

“Aramis,” he whispered.

“Shh. Shh. I know,” Aramis whispered in reply. His free hand was stroking soothingly up and down Porthos' inner thigh. “We'll get there.”

Porthos nodded and let himself relax against the bed. Aramis had long since stopped letting Porthos get adjusted before thrusting in and out and today was no exception. They both knew Porthos relished the stretched feeling and Aramis knew Porthos' muscles had enough memory to allow him to sink his finger all the way in immediately.

“Sire,” he groaned, shifting under Aramis' hand.

Aramis understood the unspoken request and added his middle finger, forcing them into Porthos' body to the hilt. His lover gave an impatient twist under him but Aramis just chuckled.

“I can't take that risk,” Aramis said quietly.

What Porthos wanted was Aramis to be his normal rough, unyielding self. He enjoyed it best when Aramis simply took him, giving him no room to find his own pace.

“Sire,” he panted. “So close.”

“I know, mi vida. I know,” Aramis crooned.

Aramis watched eagerly as his lover forced himself to stay calm. His eyes were screwed shut and he was breathing very shallowly, trying hard not to move. Aramis continued thrusting his two fingers in and out, taking care to stay well away from the sensitive bundle of nerves and making sure his motions were smooth. He began to stroke himself with his other hand, watching the sweat beading on Porthos' chest and forehead.

“Oh Master,” Porthos ground out, through clenched teeth.

Aramis continued to watch and since it seemed Porthos was unable to relax this time, he licked his lips and, in one smooth motion, removed his fingers and drove his cock deep into Porthos' body.

A long, loud groan filled their bedroom as Porthos found himself suddenly filled. The deep stretching ache in his muscles as they were pulled apart and forced to accept Aramis spread outwards in a pool of liquid pleasure. Aramis was unusually holding himself entirely still and Porthos managed to find just enough concentration to open his eyes.

The eyes looking down at him were jet black but glittering with a kind of fierce pride. He looked somehow triumphant and humble all at the same time.

“Mine,” he whispered, surprisingly tender.

Porthos felt tears spring to his eyes and all he could do was nod. It was one of Aramis' favourite things for them to spend in unison and Porthos intended to get as close to that as possible. He clenched his muscles around Aramis, a faint wave of discomfort washing through his slightly unprepared entrance and he clung to that mild pain desperately, using it to stave his orgasm off.

Aramis smirked at him and gripped Porthos firmly by the hips. He shifted his weight and with a devilish grin down at Porthos, he began to move.

His voice may have been tender but his lovemaking was not. Not today. Today he was reclaiming what was his after so long and he wasn't holding back. Aramis slammed into Porthos again and again, driving his considerable length into his lover with such ferocity that Porthos had to brace his hands on the wall above his head to stop himself being knocked out.

Porthos clung to the pain and tried to separate it from the pleasure but the truth was, they were all one mixed up glorious sensation that normally went hand in hand together. Trying to unravel them now while his nerves were already raw and vibrating was impossible.

“Master,” he growled.

“Oh yes,” Aramis grunted between violent thrust. “Now.”

With a growl so loud it made the shutters rattle, Porthos finally had his release, the sensation ripping through him and punching all the breath out of him with its force.

The way his muscles clamped down almost painfully around him and the way his body convulsed was too much for Aramis to resist. As Porthos' body was striped with his own spend, Aramis filled the man's body with his, shuddering violently.

Porthos was fairly certain he must have blacked out for a few moments because when he opened his eyes it was to find Aramis sprawled on top of him, giggling in his ear.

His arms felt like lead when he raised them to hold Aramis. He could feel his spend between them, a wet puddle between their bellies but he couldn't care less. His throat was raw and not just from Aramis' cock. The growling had done its damage as well.

“Love you,” he managed to rasp into Aramis' hair.

“Love you,” Aramis echoed, nuzzling his sweat covered neck.

 


	84. Chapter 84

Athos was pleasantly surprised how calm he felt. He'd felt himself growing nervous as he walked home, doubting his decision to delay their time alone. Would they both just get worked up? Would Athos get too lost in his own head? Would d'Artagnan change his mind? Get too anxious?

Instead, Athos spent the time moving around his modest quarters slowly. He methodically packed his belongings away into the two chests and washed himself thoroughly. He bent low over a bucket of heated water and washed the dust out of his hair. He sighed happily and scrubbed his face hard, smiling at how long he'd let his beard grow. He trimmed his beard carefully, bending over the looking glass and realised he couldn't remember the last time he'd done it.

When he'd finished, Athos disposed of the water and left the shutters open to air his rooms out after being away for so long. He chuckled at himself, realising he was primping himself as if meeting his lover but he didn't care. D'Artagnan deserved it.

Athos settled at the small table beneath the window, the warmth of the setting sun on his face. He propped his feet up on the other chair and poured himself a single glass of wine but no more.

The last of the sunlight had gone from the window when there was a tentative knock on his door. He felt no hesitation, striding over and opening the door. He waved his arm, bidding d'Artagnan enter and wasn't surprised to see him trembling slightly.

“D'Artagnan?” he asked, amused, closing the door behind him.

D'Artagnan couldn't answer and just turned to look at him questioningly.

“How long have you been outside my door?” Athos asked, gesturing for d'Artagnan to take a seat.

“A few minutes,” d'Artagnan said, sitting nervously where indicated.

Athos sank to his knees in front of d'Artagnan and took the slim hands in his own. He pressed a kiss to them and looked up at d'Artagnan.

“Why didn't you knock?”

“You said... after the sun...”

“Oh puppy,” Athos said, chuckling softly. “You were just supposed to go home and relax. I didn't want you to think you were sent away.”

“I was also... gathering my nerves,” d'Artagnan admitted, giving Athos a shy smile.

“We don't have to do this, d'Artagnan. We can just eat dinner, drink some wine and kiss until dawn,” Athos said, looking up at him.

D'Artagnan smiled down at him.

“I want to, Athos. I really do. I love you and I desperately want to become one with you in this way,” d'Artagnan said earnestly.

“Then why are you nervous, love?” Athos asked. He brought d'Artagnan's hands up to kiss again.

“I... don't quite know,” the Gascon admitted.

“D'Artagnan, do you know why I wanted to wait until we could take the time?” Athos asked.

“For the safety, the security, the freedom of your own home,” d'Artagnan said easily.

“Yes, puppy. Because they all give me the time to do it the way I want,” Athos said. “I don't want this to be a quick fumble in woods. I don't want this to be a secretive dalliance in a strange inn. I don't want this to be a naughty moment together where we're being quiet to hide from our friends.”

“What do you want?” d'Artagnan whispered, lingering nerves making his voice shake.

“I want to make love to you,” Athos answered simply.

D'Artagnan's face broke into an easy smile and he tugged gently on Athos' hands, drawing him up for a kiss.

For long, long minutes they remained like that, kissing slowly. Athos was on his knees, stretching up to meet d'Artagnan who was still seated and leaning down to kiss him. They kissed gently, slowly. It was full of emotion. All the things they'd taken so long to say, all the promise of tomorrow, all the stress of what they'd been through. They simply kissed and kissed.

Eventually Athos pulled back slightly and gave d'Artagnan's hands a gentle squeeze.

“I will say again, sweetheart,” Athos began in a gentle voice, smiling up at d'Artagnan. “If you would prefer we waited or had dinner first or even if there was something else you-”

He was cut off when d'Artagnan pulled one of his hands free and lay a finger across Athos' lips.

“Make love to me Athos,” d'Artagnan said quietly.

Athos kissed d'Artagnan's finger and stood, tugging d'Artagnan to his feet as well.

In a comfortable silence, the men undressed each other until they were both down to just their under-clothes. Athos guided d'Artagnan to the bed and he went willingly, reclining on his back.

Athos settled on top of d'Artagnan's body, straddling his thighs. He leaned forwards to nuzzle into the Gascon's neck, not quite kissing, just running his lips gently across the skin. He slowly moved, simply caressing the skin with his lips, taking in the slender column of his neck, the hollow of his throat, moving across his collarbones.

A warm kiss to his breastbone had d'Artagnan positively squirming on the bed. While he was being happily carried away by the affection and love Athos was showing, he was also feeling increasingly aroused and having the hot weight of Athos on top of him wasn't helping.

“Please,” he breathed.

“Do you have a request for a position?” Athos asked, lips brushing across the skin of d'Artagnan's chest.

“I'm not sure I know enough to pick,” he admitted.

“Your knees would be perhaps easiest for you but...”

“No,” d'Artagnan said quickly. He smiled at Athos who looked up at his rapid response. “I would look upon your face.”

Athos nodded, pleased by the choice and shuffled down to unlace d'Artagnan's braies. He gave the man a scathing look when again, the laces were too tight for him to undo. D'Artagnan grinned at him but instead of undoing his own laces, reached in to undo Athos'.

“Ahem,” Athos said softly, making no move to stop him.

D'Artagnan simply pushed Athos' smalls down to fall at his knees and gently began to stroke his lover's still soft member.

As he watched Athos begin to fill out and harden in his hands, d'Artagnan had a new appreciation for just what he was about to do. He was reassured by the fact that Athos had said he was average but even so... He was about as wide as his three fingers but it had been a while since they'd done that.

Gentle hands stilled d'Artagnan's own and he glanced up to find Athos' staring down at him hungrily.

“You're ruining my plans again,” he teased, his voice still soft.

D'Artagnan smiled and quickly saw to the laces on his own underwear, slightly embarrassed to realise his own cock was almost fully hard and sprang out, slightly undignified, when Athos reached for it. He didn't seem to mind, however, and simply stroked him in long, slow movements, the calluses on his hands becoming increasingly familiar. It wasn't long until his hips were moving with Athos' slow strokes, arching into the grip but with no urgency at all.

Athos moved off of d'Artagnan for a moment, just long enough for both of them to shed the remainder of their clothes, before settling again on the bed but this time between d'Artagnan's legs.

The Gascon blushed slightly, as he always did, when Athos' eyes raked across his exposed genitals. His own gaze was transfixed by the sight of Athos' cock, hard and proud between his legs, full of the knowledge of where they were heading.

In all their previous encounters Athos had either been clothed or laying beside him or d'Artagnan had been facing away. This was the first time d'Artagnan had seen Athos in quite this position and the reality was hitting him with a wave of arousal. There was suddenly nothing he wanted more.

“OK, d'Artagnan?” Athos asked softly, his hands still resting on the Gascon's thighs, thumbs rubbing small circles in them.

In answer, d'Artagnan reached out with his legs and wrapped them around Athos' hips, trying to pull him closer. A low chuckle and a shake of the head met this movement and d'Artagnan relaxed against the bed trying to appear calmer than he felt.

His cock was pulsing at the vision Athos presented. Gloriously nude, his well muscled thighs beneath d'Artagnan's, spreading them and lifting his bottom up slightly. The calloused hands were moving to cradle d'Artagnan testicles, rolling them gently even as one began to stroke lightly on the soft space of skin that made d'Artagnan sigh softly. His stomach, not as toned as others but still well muscled, led up to his chest, covered with that soft hair that hid scars d'Artagnan had traced. What took d'Artagnan's breath away was his face.

Athos' face was normally an emotionless mask and he kept it hidden well. By keeping his hat low, his beard untrimmed, Athos made sure to keep himself protected. Today, though, here in bed, his face was alive.

Gone was the smirk, his normal concession to amusement. Gone was the sarcastic lift of his eyebrows. Gone were the frown lines between his eyes. Gone was the guarded look in his eyes. He was expressive, open and utterly vulnerable.

“I love you,” d'Artagnan said on impulse.

“I love you too,” Athos said, without hesitation.

They smiled at each other for several long moments while Athos' hands continued to lay light, gentle touches on d'Artagnan, avoiding his cock but moving ever closer to his entrance.

He couldn't stop himself giggling when Athos' index finger finally touched him, seemingly already covered in oil. A single raised eyebrow asked the question.

“Didn't notice you getting the oil,” he answered.

Athos nodded his understanding but didn't reply. He gently pressed his index finger into d'Artagnan and smiled as the muscles parted willingly for him.

“Athos,” d'Artagnan whispered, his eyes fluttering closed.

The Musketeer still didn't reply and just began smoothly moving his finger in and out of the Gascon, smiling as his hands waved uselessly at his sides. They soon settled as Athos began to speed up, feeling the muscles loosen around his digit.

D'Artagnan moaned for the first time when Athos' second finger joined the first. He could feel himself opening up and his cock throbbed almost painfully where it lay, resting against his belly. He fidgeted on Athos' lap, the position making him feel more open than he ever had in all the other times they'd done this. He wanted to feel Athos fill that gap and gave his hips another gentle tug with his legs.

“Soon,” Athos promised, his voice unusually ragged.

D'Artagnan opened his eyes to see Athos' normally pale, clear eyes were dark, his pupils widened. His breathing was uneven and another look at revealed his cock to be almost purple with arousal.

“Please,” d'Artagnan said, giving another impatient tug.

“Soon,” Athos repeated, his other hand coming up to d'Artagnan's hip, squeezing gently.

The Gascon took a deep breath at the grounding contact and nodded, forcing himself to relax, letting his legs fall open either side of Athos.

The older man had to bite his lip at this show of trust. D'Artagnan was spread out beneath him, naked and writhing slightly, just how Athos had imagined him so many times before. He wondered at himself for ever thinking this was wrong. He began to twist his fingers slightly, feeling the resistance in d'Artagnan's muscles as they moved beyond the comfortable. He scissored them slightly, unable to stop himself groaning at the sight of d'Artagnan arching into the movement and the sound of his moan.

“Please,” d'Artagnan begged, writhing on Athos' lap. “Please, Athos.”

Athos made no reply other than to continue moving his digits until he was able to add a third. He had to use his hold on d'Artagnan's lap to keep him in place when he lurched at the feeling.

“So open,” moaned d'Artagnan.

It was the only thought he could come up with. His legs were draped over Athos' thighs, spreading his cheeks apart slightly and the feeling of Athos' three fingers inside him, knowing why they were there, made d'Artagnan feel not just physically exposed but like his very heart was on display.

“So beautiful,” Athos replied, his hand leaving d'Artagnan's hip to stroke down across his chest and stomach.

D'Artagnan moaned again and his hips moved impatiently. Athos chuckled to himself and obediently began to move his fingers in and out of d'Artagnan, the muscles still tight around them. He let his fingers spread slightly and his own cock throbbed as d'Artagnan's hole accommodated them easily, moving with Athos' needs.

He continued to thrust his digits in and out of d'Artagnan until the Gascon was clawing at the headboard and his heels were digging painfully into the small of Athos' back in silent demand.

“Might still hurt,” Athos warned, slowly withdrawing his fingers.

“I know,” d'Artagnan whispered, the nerves resurfacing as he watched Athos dribble oil onto his cock.

He wanted to help, to replace Athos' hand that was slowly stroking his cock, covering it in the liquid, but his trepidation made him freeze slightly and he felt slightly helpless.

“So beautiful,” Athos murmured again, his eyes roving across the stunning body spread out before him.

D'Artagnan's stomach unclenched slightly at the compliment, reminding himself this was Athos and Athos was love.

He felt his thighs spread slightly further apart when Athos shuffled up between them, the muscles on his lover's legs meaning d'Artagnan's bottom was lifted slightly higher as well.

“Tell me if it hurts,” Athos said gently.

D'Artagnan nodded, beyond words at this point. He felt Athos' fingers return and slide in. They both moaned softly as the two fingers slid in with almost no resistance. D'Artagnan had a sudden spike of desire when he realised Athos' fingers had overridden the natural way of his body in making it ready for him to enter.

No sooner had he thought it than he felt the soft but blunt head of Athos' cock nudging at him. His hips gave an involuntary lurch and Athos' hand returned to his waist, steadying him.

“OK?” Athos asked in a whisper.

“Oh yes. Please,” d'Artagnan replied, the words coming out little more than a whine.

The sensation returned and this time he was less surprised and his body co-operated, remaining in place. D'Artagnan gave a low moan as he felt Athos breach him and his breath hitched, cutting the noise off, as a mild burning sensation began. He felt Athos stop and opened his eyes to find the Musketeer watching him calmly, holding perfectly still as d'Artagnan's body grew accustomed to the invasion. He nodded and Athos pushed in another inch or so.

It was like nothing d'Artagnan had ever imagined. The heat of Athos' cock was phenomenal and his breath was taken away entirely by the stretched feeling. Physically he was prepared and he felt no pain but this was nothing like Athos' fingers.

Athos' fingers had give in them, they moved with d'Artagnan's body, they twisted, they scissored, they could cross and change their width. His cock, however. That didn't give. It was as hard as iron and held d'Artagnan's muscles uncompromisingly far apart. It was like a heated staff of metal wrapped in the softest velvet.

D'Artagnan opened his eyes again, not remembering when he'd closed them and found Athos' expression had changed slightly. The normally pale colour of his eyes had been consumed almost entirely by the dark circles within. He could see a slight tremor running through him.

“Please Athos,” d'Artagnan breathed.

Athos rose slightly on his knees and pushed in slightly further, forcing himself to stop again when d'Artagnan gasped.

“Athos. Please, oh please,” the Gascon panted, his hands coming to rest on Athos', which were still on d'Artagnan's thighs.

Athos gave a low groan and slowly, slowly pushed the rest of the way into d'Artagnan. The tightness of the man was incredible. The warmth and softness around him took Athos' breath away and he couldn't resist glancing down. He couldn't see any of himself, just the thatch of hair pressed against those beautiful bronze orbs of muscle he'd come to know so well. He could see d'Artagnan's cock weeping against his stomach and his eyes travelled up to the man's face.

D'Artagnan couldn't have found a single word to say if someone had paid him. The feeling of being finally united with Athos in the most intimate, carnal way had rendered him speechless with emotion. For much longer than he'd care to admit he'd been having fantasies of this moment but nothing could have prepared him for the fierce look in Athos' eyes. He looked at d'Artagnan with absolute love and he seemed simultaneously joyous and triumphant.

It was the latter that made pure lust curl in d'Artagnan's belly and he picked his legs up again, wrapping them around Athos' hips.

“D'Artagnan,” warned Athos, his voice unsteady.

He, too, had been hit by a wave of emotion. It was one thing to be able to love someone and have their love in return. It was quite another to be open enough to have sex with them. To be trusted and wanted and loved enough to do both? That was heart stopping and Athos had never found the man spread beneath him more beautiful.

“I'm fine. Please. I need you, Athos,” d'Artagnan pleaded, tugging on the Musketeer's body for emphasis.

Athos nodded but still took a moment for himself. Hearing d'Artagnan beg for **him** had made him almost come on the spot. He peeled d'Artagnan's legs off his body and raised himself up on his knees, keeping himself firmly embedded in d'Artagnan's body.

“You will tell me if it hurts,” Athos reminded him.

D'Artagnan nodded eagerly, his normal bright grin lighting his features and it made Athos' heart swell.

Athos slowly withdrew, watching the Gascon carefully. With just the head of his penis in his lover, he stopped to add a little more oil to his length. When he slowly pushed back in he couldn't resist watching as, inch by inch, he disappeared into d'Artagnan's body.

For his part, the younger man moaned loudly, wantonly and without shame at the sensation. He'd never felt so full when Athos was inside him and the shock of him pulling almost all the way out had left him feeling somehow bereft. When he pressed back in with one slow, glorious motion, it had been the most filthy and yet fulfilling thing he'd ever felt.

Athos repeated the motion at the same inexorably slow speed. He was partly making sure d'Artagnan's body was definitely ready for him to begin thrusting but also he was simply mesmerised by watched the man take him in.

“Athos,” d'Artagnan laughed, a hint of desperation in his voice.

“D'Artagnan,” Athos mimicked, his own voice shaking slightly.

“Please, please, make love to me,” d'Artagnan begged.

Athos shifted his weight again, rising on his knees far enough that he needed to brace his weight on his hands either side of d'Artagnan's chest.

The Gascon cried out at the shift in position as it forced Athos impossibly deeper into his body. He could feel an ache in his muscles from being held apart but it was somehow a good, erotic pain and it made his cock spasm with arousal on his stomach.

“As you wish,” Athos murmured.

D'Artagnan quickly lost the power of speech at Athos began to thrust in and out of him. For the first few moments it was his soft, careful side that shone through until d'Artagnan's legs came up higher, around his waist. It tilted his pelvis up even further and Athos gave a soft growl before he began moving in earnest.

Athos was trying hard not to hurt d'Artagnan but he couldn't help it. He had been waiting too long to be inside the man like this and d'Artagnan was more than eager. He let his instincts take over and before long he was slamming into the man.

“Fuck,” d'Artagnan swore when Athos suddenly turned animal but he tightened his hold around him.

This was the real Athos. He was calm, collected, reserved and impossibly gentle but d'Artagnan had enjoyed a few forays into the inner Athos and this kind of primal lust lit d'Artagnan's senses on fire. His hands came up to rest on Athos' forearms and it was all could do to cling on for the ride.

His breath was being forced out of him by each deep, hard stab of Athos' length into him but the feeling was utterly delicious. He dug his heels into Athos' backside, eager for more. Every single time he could feel Athos withdraw and thrust back in and it touched something deep inside his psyche, making his arousal rise impossibly higher in a way that fingers never could.

It was with a sudden guttural moan that he felt Athos slam into him, painfully hard and then hold himself still as he emptied himself inside d'Artagnan, his body giving a few stuttering thrusts as he reached completion.

D'Artagnan felt tears pricking his eyes when Athos collapsed onto his body and he instantly wrapped his arms around the man. Even that simple gesture was vulnerability in a way Athos had never shown and he felt honoured that he was trusted in that way. He stroked the man's back, feeling the sweat covering it and pressed a kiss into the shaggy mop of hair.

After a minute, Athos pushed himself up on his hands and knees again, and smiled down at d'Artagnan.

“Sorry. I'd intended to be more... gentle,” Athos said, not sounding sorry at all.

“Don't **ever** apologise for that,” d'Artagnan insisted fiercely.

They shared a low hiss as Athos withdrew his slightly softened cock from d'Artagnan's body. The Gascon lay there, unashamed and unwilling to move while Athos cleaned himself up before gently cleaning d'Artagnan.

Necessities taken care of, Athos crawled up and over his lover's body, leaning down to kiss the man.

Despite d'Artagnan's best attempts, Athos kept the kiss slow and gentle. Arousal was still coursing through him and the gentle throbbing sensation of his well used hole was utterly delicious. He tried again to entice Athos into kissing more forcefully but to no avail.

“It seems I need to take care of you,” Athos murmured. He dipped his hips, pressing them into d'Artagnan's still throbbing member.

“Please,” whined d'Artagnan.

“What would you like? This moment is for you, my love. You may have anything you wish of me,” Athos said quietly.

“I don't know. I'm quite... overwhelmed,” d'Artagnan admitted.

Athos gave the low, throaty chuckle that d'Artagnan loved so much and slowly pulled back, settling on his knees between d'Artagnan's still splayed legs.

One of Athos' hands wrapped around his neglected cock and d'Artagnan gave a cry of surprise.

“OK?” asked Athos, uncertainly.

“So close,” whispered d'Artagnan, embarrassed.

He hadn't realised just how imminent his own orgasm was, assuming it would have faded somewhat. When those talented fingers touched him, though, he felt he might combust immediately.

Athos simply smiled and began to stroke d'Artagnan gently, trying not to make his overly sensitive organ too uncomfortable to be pleasurable.

The Gascon was fairly certain his entire body had turned to jelly and he simply lay there, enjoying the attention. Athos' other hand was stroking the spot behind his sack gently, just the barest hint of pressure. Just enough to render d'Artagnan speechless, reduced again to little moans and whimpers.

After long minutes, his hips began to thrust up impatiently, his orgasm that had seemed so close earlier just constantly out of reach. Athos obligingly sped his hand up and began to pass his thumb over the wet, purple head on each stroke. Each time he did so, d'Artagnan positively whimpered with pleasure.

“Kiss me,” he gasped, clutching at the air between their bodies.

After a small amount of rearranging, most of which Athos had to do since d'Artagnan's legs weren't entirely under his control yet, Athos was stretched out on his side beside d'Artagnan.

His hand returned to d'Artagnan's length, quickly picking up the same pace and grip while he leaned over and kissed d'Artagnan deeply.

The Gascon could do little more than simply moan into Athos' mouth. He had just needed this little bit more connection from him and, with his lover close by his side, his orgasm came rushing upon him and he shuddered to completion in Athos' arms.

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


“You need a bigger bed,” d'Artagnan commented several hours later.

He was laying almost entirely on Athos, needing to be much closer than they had been on the road. Athos had only a small single bed, which was normally fine. With the addition of d'Artagnan it had required the Gascon lay much more on Athos than beside him. It was not an arrangement Athos minded one bit.

“My bed is fine,” Athos murmured drowsily.

It was nearing midnight. After they'd made love, they had shared a carafe of wine in bed and kissed the wine from each other's lips until all they could taste was each other. For the last hour, after Athos had insisted they go to bed, d'Artagnan had been speaking near nonsense to him.

“It's not as nice as a big bed,” d'Artagnan argued.

“You never slept on your own side,” Athos pointed out. His arm was draped loosely around d'Artagnan and with his fingers, he was drawing random patterns on the smooth skin of his back.

“I like being close to you,” d'Artagnan said, yawning.

“Then my small bed is perfect,” Athos replied.

“Am I talking too much?” d'Artagnan asked.

“No,” Athos replied, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth, his eyes still closed.

“I'd like to do that again,” d'Artagnan said in a small voice.

“As would I,” Athos replied.

“Would you ever... No. Never mind,” d'Artagnan began but stopped himself.

At this Athos opened his eyes and peered at his young lover. He had turned his face and was hiding against Athos' chest but he could see the redness covering his face.

“Would I ever what?” he asked.

“It's not right. Never mind,” came the muffled reply.

“D'Artagnan,” Athos prompted but only got a shake of the head.

He flattened his hand and began stroking d'Artagnan's shoulder and back in wide, sweeping motions. He could feel the man start to relax and he tried again.

“Puppy,” he said, softly.

“Sir,” breathed d'Artagnan, instantly responding to the familiar touch.

“What would you like to know?”

“Would you ever let me... with you? Do that to you?” d'Artagnan asked, still hiding his face.

“Of course,” Athos answered at once.

“Really?” d'Artagnan asked, lifting his head in excitement.

“Of course,” Athos repeated. “We are not women, d'Artagnan. There is no limit in the way we can come together. We are not restricted to one on top, one on the bottom.”

D'Artagnan blushed and hid his face, but more playfully this time.

“Yet Aramis is always on top,” he said, giggling slightly.

“In spirit, yes. Not always in body,” Athos corrected.

“He sometimes...” hinted d'Artagnan.

“He sometimes like to be very well fucked, yes,” Athos said bluntly.

D'Artagnan giggled into Athos' chest and squirmed at his side.

“Like I was,” d'Artagnan said.

“Indeed,” Athos said, still stroking d'Artagnan.

“Are you sure I'm not talking too much?”

Athos chuckled softly and leaned slightly to press a kiss to d'Artagnan's forehead.

“Just because I'm quiet that doesn't mean I want you to be. Listening to you is soothing,” Athos said, relaxing back against the bed again.

“When are we back on duty?”

“You and I, the day after tomorrow. Aramis is seeing Doctor Lemay tomorrow. Porthos I'm not sure,” Athos replied.

“I missed Paris. I didn't think I would,” d'Artagnan said quietly. “The city is exciting but I'm supposed to be from the country. Shouldn't that be where I'm happiest?”

“Not necessarily. In my experience it's less about where you are physically but what you're doing,” Athos said, his eyes still closed.

“Are you happiest in the country?” d'Artagnan asked.

“I do find the country beautiful and I enjoy the peace but I'm happiest in the Musketeers,” Athos answered.

“And they're in Paris.”

“They're in Paris.”

“I think I like the city,” d'Artagnan said after a minute of quiet. “Not just what I'm doing but I like the city. I like how busy it is. I like how different everyone is from one another. I like the convenience of everything at your fingertips. I think I like being in the city more.”

“You were just in the wrong place for the first few years?” Athos asked, smirking slightly.

“Not any more,” d'Artagnan murmured, pressing closer to Athos' body.

“Not any more,” agreed Athos.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot thank you guys enough for the support you've shown me during this work. You have kept me going in my confused or moody moments and I love you all. I really hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it and I hope to see you all again soon when my next work rears its head!

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback makes my fingers itchy and I write ALL THE THINGS!
> 
> Prompts and requests always welcome at kitacularao3 at gmaildotcom :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Emptying the clouds](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6297934) by [Kitacular](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitacular/pseuds/Kitacular)
  * [More than Brothers Fanart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8318278) by [The_Ghoul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Ghoul/pseuds/The_Ghoul)




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